Play it Again, Sam
by Thorsmaven
Summary: A series of one shot stories based on songs and pairings I love. HET and SLASH. First story is Ric Flair/Ricky Steamboat. Head each warning before reading each chapter as I will warn you what's in each. Chap 10 is Ric/Roddy retro SLASH fic
1. Thank You

I've decided to write a series of one shots based on songs I love. These are not song fics, but by taking the emotion of a song or the general feeling of the song and making it into a story type fic. I have no idea if that makes sense, but whatevs. I hope you enjoy these!

-

Fic title: Thank You  
Song: Thank You by Led Zepplin  
Characters: Ric Flair, Ricky Steamboat  
Mentions of: Ricky's wife, Piper  
Rated: T for language and brief m/m  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Ricky thinks back on his life with Ric Flair. SLIGHT SLASH  
Genre: General/Romance

SPECIAL FIC DEDICATION: This one's for Wrestlefan4. Thanks so much for the awesome retro RP, for the fantastic Roddy Piper moments, and being there for me. I hope you enjoy this fic!

-

A loud gunshot echoed over the peaceful silence of the corn field. Two men ran side by side, cutting through the field together, the sound of the gun going off still ringing in Ricky's ears. "What did you do?!"

"I remain innocent until proven guilty, Ricky. But if you must know I may have made a pass at the guy's daughter."

Ricky looked over at his best friend, his platinum long hair covered in corn stalk pieces and threads. "What possessed you to do that? He looked like your typical redneck! He'll probably feed our bodies to pigs!"

"That's if he's going to catch us. He's not going to catch us. We're almost out of the field anyway! So stop your complaining and look at the bright side of things."

"Ric, you said that exact same thing five minutes ago." Ricky complained as he finally pushed his way out of the corn, shocked to find them standing on a sun baked road. "…You don't get to say anything. Just because we found a road doesn't mean we're out of this." He leaned over, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Off in the distance, an old pick-up truck rumbled down the road. Ric's smirk grew. He smacked Ricky on the arm. "Oh yeah? I think we're out of this. Who's the man? I'm the man." He gloated and reached into his pocket to pull out some money.

"Surrrre, like that guy's gonna stop for a couple of guys with long hair, wearing bell bottoms. Yeah, this will go super well."

"Everybody stops for money." Ric fished a couple of twenties out of his wallet, waving them in the direction of the truck driver. "He's going to stop."

Ricky watched as the truck rumbled on past them. "Yeah, everyone stops for money." He spied the bottle of crown royal sticking out of Ric's bag and grabbed it by the neck. "Hey! Hey you stop! We got booze!" He shouted holding up the bottle of expensive alcohol.

"No! Not my crown royal! I need that!" Ric protested trying to wrestle the bottle from Ricky's hand.

"Knock it off, I'll buy you a new one!" He pushed Ric back, grinning at the truck as it began to slow down, finally coming to a stop. "Wait here." He jogged over to the cab of the truck, handing over the bottle.

Ric watched in slight dismay. That was his last bottle of crown royal. He clutched at the front of his shirt; if the guy just drove off they'd be down a ride and down one bottle of crown royal left to face an angry farmer and miles of cornfield.

"It's fine! He's going to give us a ride to town!" Ricky grabbed the side of the pick-up truck and swung up inside. "Come on!" He pushed open the back to help Ric inside. He grabbed the blonde man's arms, hauling him up inside.

"See? Who called it? I knew we'd be fine." Ric put his bag down, resting his head on it.

"Yeah. It's never boring with you Ric." He pulled up the back, and then knocked on the window in the back of the cab to signal to the driver that they were good to go. "Thanks for sacrificing the booze, Ric. I know that's so important to you." He laid back down beside Ric, looking up at the sky as the truck drove off.

"No, it's fine." Ric yawned. "I should lay off that stuff some. I drink it too much."

"Yeah, you sweat crown royal so much it's like cologne."

Ric snickered. "You only say that because you're so straight laced."

"No, I'm saying that because I room with you and I'm pretty sure that if I go by you with an open flame you'll combust."

Ric punched him playfully in the arm. "Sorry… I'll really try this time." He turned away from his companion, starring up into the autumn blue sky above them. It was a beautiful blue, not quite a light blue, but more of a cornflower blue. White puffy clouds dotted the sky, interrupting the smoothness of the blue. "All in all, it's a pretty nice day."

"Save for getting shot at." Ricky muttered looking up at the sky. "But you're right, it is a nice day."

"It's always a nice day when I'm with yo-"

Ricky held up his hand to silence Ric. "Hush. Don't get all mushy on me."

Ric laughed a little. "Sorry man. You know me, I'm an old softy."

"Soft doesn't begin to explain it." Ricky turned to look at his friend, laughing at the other man's pout. "Oh relax. You do that so well, sometimes I think you're really pouting. Is that the Ric Flair secret to getting women?"

"Partially." Ric still pouted. "Sometimes on guys too, if my aim is off."

"Seriously? Well… what the hell happens when…" He trailed off, half wondering why he even wanted to know.

Ric grinned broadly at him. "You really don't want to know, my friend. Trust me on that one."

Ricky looked to his friend, watching the way his smirk lingered briefly on his face before he flipped his sunglasses down over his nose. Ric was unlike any man he had ever met. He was loud, boisterous- as if he were afraid that if you couldn't hear him he'd simply vanish. He wore the strangest things- from glitzy robes to suits he could barely afford to buy. Ric left a trail of glitter in his wake, whether it was from his clothing, or the bits of glass from the many broken bottles of alcohol smashed in hotel rooms across the country.

The bump in the dirt road knocked them up into the air. Ricky tried to settle back into a comfortable position on the floor of the rusted pick-up truck bed, while Ric examined his fingers for any broken nails. After finding one, he cussed lightly and shook out his hand. Ric intrigued him like no other person he had ever met before, and he wasn't sure if it was his lifestyle, or the mystery Ricky created about the man's sexuality. His feathered pink robe in particular made him think twice, but not in a negative way. If anything, it made Ric all that more alluring. "Ric… I gotta know something. Ever since I met you, I've wondered about something."

"Mm?" He asked glancing over to the other man. "What's up?"

Ricky looked to his friend, one of the few men who first tried to know him. Ric didn't judge him; he didn't make a rude comment about his heritage. Just reminding himself of that made him hesitate. So what if Ric seemed a bit off, did it really matter in the end? "Ric, you're… you… do you-"

Ric snickered slightly. "You think I'm twink, don't you?"

Ricky promptly turned bright red and began to stammer. "Well I just- I don't know the clothes the… the everything! I can't help but wonder."

"Relax, Ricky. I'm not offended or anything like that. And even if I was, ya wouldn't be my type." Ric turned his attention back to the clear sky. "So you _really_ don't have anything to worry about."

"Not your type?!" Ricky sat up, looking outraged. "Why the hell not?! What's the matter with me, that I wouldn't be your 'type'?"

Ric looked over to him with a snort. "You're a nag, man. I don't date nags."

"Oh whatever! If me being a nag means I care about your general health and well being, well then sure! I'm a big ole nag!"

"You're borderline battle-axe. Better watch it, Ricky- you'll never catch a hot anything like me with that type of attitude." Ric's serious tone faltered and he lost it. He burst out into a round of horse like laughter, holding his ribs as tears threatened to sting the corners of his eyes. "Your face! You look so offended! Just relax! I'm only messin' with ya."

Ricky forced himself to relax, shaking off the insulting words for what they were; a joke. Ric was joking with him. It didn't matter, they weren't _that way_ anyway. He finally allowed himself to laugh, it was pretty funny. "I guess you're right, I should lighten up. I just don't like causing trouble."

Ric rolled on to his side, pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead. "You're the quintessential good guy, Ricky. Don't let anyone-even me, change that. Though you really should consider lightening up a bit-it couldn't hurt."

-

Ricky stared at himself in the long mirror. His tuxedo was perfect, his hair nicely trimmed and looking perfect. He ran a trembling hand over it one last time, before nervously fiddling with the red rose boutonniere tucked into his lapel. "Okay Ricky. Today's the day. You can do this. Gotta lighten up. You know you can do this. It's the day you've been waiting for."

The door to the church bathroom swung open wildly. The heavy wood banged on the ceramic tile of the wall, echoing loudly in the room. There stood Ric, his eyes red and puffy, his suit a mess, and his platinum hair flying off in different directions. Ricky smelt the distinct aroma of crown royal lingering in the air and he frowned.

"Ric, you're drunk." He said unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. "You're drunk on my wedding day."

"Don't do it, man!" Ric shouted his blue eyes wide and manic. "Don't do it, she's wrong for you!" He grabbed the other man by the arms and shook him slightly. "She's a bitch!"

"Ric, come on!" Ricky scowled and knocked Ric's hands away. "Get a hold of yourself! I'm going to forgive you for saying that simply because I know that you're drunk out of your mind-"

" No!" Ric hollered out. "No, it's more than that! Ya can't marry her, Ricky- ya just can't!" He whispered and fell forward, wrapping his arms around Ricky's shoulders. "She's so bad for you she just… she is!"

Ric's tone while drunk, his frantic look, his overall dishevelment bothered him. He threw his arms around the other man, hugging him tightly. "Stop… stop, calm down Ric. It's going to be alright. Just relax. You're drunk, that's all it is."

"No! No, no…" He picked his head up from Ricky's shoulders, grabbing the man's face. He brought him in for a hard kiss, Ric's fingers messing up Ricky's perfect hair as he held desperately to him. Their lips bruised and mashed together, kissing and moving in a fevered type of embrace. It was Ric that was the one who pulled away, and he did so with such great gusto he toppled over onto the tiled floor. "I'm sorry! Oh what have I done…?"

Ric's wail sounded strange in his mind. Ricky stumbled back against the sink of the bathroom, pressing his fingers to his lips. He could feel Ric on them still; the flavor of Ric's favorite alcohol burned lightly.

The bathroom door opened up again, Roddy staring at the sight in front of him. There was Ric on the ground, and Ricky looking like he got kicked hard in the gut. "Look, I know my man hates weddings but what the fuck is goin' on here?!"

"Pipes, I did a bad thing!" Ric said extending his hand to the other man to help him up.

"Yeesh!" Roddy exclaimed loudly as he hauled Ric to his feet again. "What did you drain the open bar before the reception even began?! Ricky, I'll get him sober and we'll see you at the reception. He hates weddings." He said in an attempt to explain their friend's wildly erratic behavior. "Come on ya nut. Roddy's got ya."

"I know. Ya always got me, man." Ric said slinging a limp arm over Roddy's back as the other man helped him out of the bathroom.

Ricky stared at the chaos Ric yet again left behind. Slowly, he let his arm drop to his side. Ric's manic kiss, his desperate attempt to get his attention worked. Frustrated and upset, he spun around gripping the smooth porcelain of the sink. He turned on the water, wetting down a paper towel and pressing it to the back of his neck in an attempt to calm down. "He lied to me…" He whispered staring down at the water swirling down into the drain. "Why didn't he tell me the truth…?" He pressed his fingers again to his lips and shut his eyes. He could still feel Ric there, his presence burned into his memory. "Damn you, Ric Flair…"

-

"Damn you Ric Flair!" Ricky grumbled as he forked over the last of his money to the man behind the clerk desk. The jail was tiny, and fairly dirty. An old calendar from 1980 was still stuck on the wall, despite two years having flown by since then. "There! That's all I got! Is that enough to get the two of them out?!" He gestured wildly to the two men stuck behind the one room jail's only cage.

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Just hold on so I can process this."

Ricky stared at the two sheepish men. Ric's hair was half stained red, and Roddy's shirt was torn with a very suspicious chalk white, blue, and red smear stained across the front. "What did you two do?!" He finally said biting back the anger he felt toward the two of them. That was his last bit of money, and being woken up at three in the morning wasn't something he totally enjoyed either.

"Okay now, I know you only damned me, and normally it is completely my fault but this time it's partially Roddy's."

"Yeah, I'll fess up. I had an equal part in it, Ricky." Roddy huffed. "Ya see, there was this ass in a clown suit at the bar, and we don't like that kinda shit as it is so-"

"That's enough, I've changed my mind. I don't want to know." He said abruptly and held up a trembling hand to his temple. "Guys, I love you and everything- but you're killing me here. I can't devote part of my pay check to the 'Ricky bails his two friends out of jail every week because of some wild ass excuse fund' anymore! I'm married, my wife wants to-" Ricky paused to give Ric a long, impatient glare as the blonde man instantly made a face at the mention of his spouse. "Ric, enough. I know you hate her, but she's my wife and I love her. And for the love of all things, she's right. You two need to grow up!"

"I don't see why!" He sputtered out and grabbed the bars. "She never lets you have any fun! She's draining the life outta you! You know we'll pay you back for the bail money, but god damn it Ricky! She's a bitch! She's no good for you!"

Ricky gave them an incredulous look. "You two beat up a clown in a bar and you have the nerve to tell me that! And don't try to tell me otherwise, I can see it all over Roddy's shirt."

"See, it wasn't at all like that. That clown and his midget friends had it coming. Me and Ric were at the bar minding our own business when-"

Ricky held up a hand and shook his head. "No. No. I still don't want to know. Just keep this in mind. When I get the chance, I'm going to kill the both of you. I'm tired of always being the responsible one. I'm tired of you doing things that don't make any sense. I'm very tired of you doing things that hurt me, because you want to be reckless. Because you both lack the capacity to realize when something should be kept in and not shared." He stared at Ric for that last comment. Sometimes when he shut his eyes, he could still feel Ric's lips on his. "Overall, I'm just fucking tired."

Ric looked to Roddy, and then Roddy to Ric. Ricky barely ever cussed- he was serious. Ric spoke up first. "Ricky, man… I'm sorry. We don't mean to drag you around like this. We just get worried that you don't get to have any fun. We won't do this again to you."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Ric held up his hand. "We won't involve you in any more nonsense. But… could you do me a favor? Let Roddy tell you what happened, he's dying over here."

"It's a good story!" Roddy protested. "Come on!"

Ricky pinched the bridge of nose. "Oh fine. What happened, Roddy?"

"Well, the guy was this huge clown. Like- real circus freak show type clown- and man did he stink to high heaven! Anyway, he blew this huge cigar cloud into Ric's face and I didn't like that because he didn't even have the dignity to smoke and blow a good cigar and do that to my friend. So I said some words. Ric said some words. He honked his horn and in came these two midget clowns. One of them had a monkey on a leash, and I knew it was going to be a fight right then and there. You don't bring in monkeys and midgets to a bar unless you're looking for-"

"Stop. I can't take this. I've changed my mind." Ricky reached through the bars and covered Roddy's mouth. "I'm sorry Roddy. But monkeys, clowns, and midgets- it's far too late at night for this, and I don't think I have the capacity for the amount of alcohol it would take to appreciate this story. Tell me in the morning."

The jailer finished up the paper work, and got up from his desk. He went over to let the other two men out the jail. "Out ya go. Your court date's in the morning. Try not to cause any more trouble between now and then."

-

"It's in the morning, Ric. I have to meet with her about the divorce." Ricky said hollowly as he sat down in his empty living room. He watched with sad eyes as his long time best friend took a seat on his overstuffed couch. "I'm scared she'll take that from me too."

Ric bit his lip, looking at the other man. So much of his life was spent with that woman, the same woman he warned Ricky about years before that he looked completely drained of his vitality. "Man, I told you. I told you she was no good. I tried to warn you."

Ricky gripped at his knees, frowning. "You did. On my wedding day. Nice timing, Ric. Real nice. You couldn't have told me earlier?"

"No, because you were all 'I love Bonnie, she's so groovy'. And for the longest time I tried to see this whole 'groovy Bonnie' but all I saw was super bitch Bonnie." Ric put a hand over his tired eyes. "I'm sorry, Ricky. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I just couldn't."

"…It's alright, Ric. You kept warning me after that but I didn't want to listen. I wanted to love Bonnie. …I wanted to hide behind her." He whispered.

"Huh?" Ric let his hand fall back to his side. "Hide behind her- why? What the hell are you going on about?"

Ricky pressed his lips tightly to form a thin line. "I… Ric… Do you remember when we were lost in that cornfield and we had to catch a ride in the back of that pick-up truck?"

"Vaguely." Ric slouched down on the couch, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. "I remember you used my booze to pay the guy off."

"Of course you remember that." He scoffed. "Like you missed it."

"I also remember something else. You asked me whether or not I was twink. I told you no. …Is that what this is all about?" Ric asked turning his head to look at Ricky. "Look man, I'm still not mad at you for asking that. It was a pretty valid thing to ask."

"Yeah. But you lied, you damn twink!" Ricky shouted and threw the remote control at him. "You kissed me on my wedding day! What the hell was that?! For the past twenty some years I've kept quiet about it because I figured you were just drunk outta your mind! But every time I thought about it, every time I looked at you and Roddy- I just… that conversation in the truck came back to my mind where you denied it! Why did you lie to me! Why didn't you just tell me- I wouldn't have been mad! I wouldn't have cursed you out!"

Ric blinked at him, rubbing his arm where the remote hit him. "Whoa- Ricky… Steams- calm down. I meant what I said. I wasn't a twink. Sure, I liked nice things. I liked the color pink. And hell, I even did things like kiss you. But I'd say that's being more bi-curious than being a twink. You know me and women, after all."

Ricky blinked. "But… I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me all those years ago that… that's what you were? You could have told me. Maybe we could have-"

Ric took in a slow sigh, interrupting the other man. "Ricky, do you remember what else I said in that truck? About you bein' the good guy?"

Ricky nodded his head. "Yeah. I remember. You always said that. You always said don't get wrapped up in crap because I was too good for that. Your point?"

"…Other than you bein' denser than McMahon's fling of the week? I included myself in that group of people who shouldn't be with Ricky Blood. Ricky, like Bonnie, I wouldn'a been any better. I didn't even want you to consider me as an option. What happened at the church, I'm sorry man. I'm really sorry for that, I never meant for that to happen. But just like every bad guy who wanted a shot at the good guy, I just had to have a taste. I love you, Ricky. But there was no way I was ever going to drag you down with me."

Silence filled the room. Ricky stared down at the hardwood floor of his living room. "…Maybe I should have let you. I've always been curious about you Ric. Maybe instead of always playing it safe, I should have tried to live a little maybe-" He had to stop as he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Once he felt like he could continue, he went on. "Maybe I wouldn't be fighting my ex over the rights to my own damn name!"

Ric looked up at his long time friend's face, full of heartbreak and betrayal. He sat his drink down, and reached over to put his hand on Ricky's knee. "Ricky… You did everything right. Don't worry man. Somehow, things are gonna work out for you. Me, Roddy, your friends… we'll make sure of it. We'll take care of you like you did for us after all those nights when we needed you the most. You're not in it alone. You're never in it alone. Whether you're running from crazy rednecks, or from bitchy ex-wives it's gonna be okay. We'll get through it together."

Ricky let the tears of frustration stream down his aged face. Ric's blue eyes shone so honestly that it nearly hurt to look at them. He choked slightly on his own emotion. He stood up, going over to Ric and embraced him tightly. "I don't care what you say Ric, but… you are the best worst thing that's ever happened to me. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being my friend in the best way you knew how to be.. Thank you, Ric. Thank you."

Fin.

NOTES: I couldn't figure out the exact date of Ricky's marriage. Sorry.

I'm hoping you liked this. I tried to put in some transition between the scenes by linking them together with similar words instead of throwing in dates to separate them. If it worked, hooray!


	2. Sympathique

(This chapter is a SLASH STORY. If you do not like M/M please DO NOT READ IT. You have been appropriately warned.)

Fic title: Sympathique  
Song: Sympathique (je ne veux pas travailler) by pink martini  
Characters: John Cena, Bret Hart  
Mentions of: N/A  
Rated: T for language and brief m/m  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Have you ever noticed how rare it is to find a picture of the hitman really smiling?  
Genre: General  
Notes: **PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONG FIRST FOR THIS STORY**: .com/watch?v=FeVJbhXuRek

SPECIAL DEDICATION: This is for XxShawnsGuardianAngelxX for her very entertaining Cena muse and her fantastic friendship. I hope you enjoy this one!

-

John sat on the bench of his locker room, holding one of the discontinued figures from the Jakks Pacific line. He looked down at the plastic replica of Bret Hart, with his painted on pink tights and tiny imitation leather jacket. "I'm nothing like you." He sighed playing with the toy's arms. "Everyone back here hates me. Sure doesn't help that I let that happen. I thought it'd be great to be the guy on top- the creative team loves me. The kids love me. But that doesn't mean anything when you've got no friends. Now look at me, I'm all alone talking to a damn toy like some kind of lunatic. It's pretty damn sad when not even Orton wants to hang around ya."

He tossed the figure down on the top of his bag. The angle with Bret gave him a chance to meet his childhood idol, and even though it was only for storyline's sake, getting to be buddies with the legend himself was worth more than any title run. For the sake of not wanting to turn his own hero against him, Cena took to avoiding him too. He glanced at the toy one more time before tucking it safe inside his bag, and after not bothering to zip it shut swung the strap over his shoulder to leave the room. He kept his head down, wanting to avoid every glare he could. Unfortunately that meant not paying attention to where he was going.

"Ofh! Hey!" Bret stumbled forward on his weakened left leg, making him fall to the ground. His coffee cup spilled out everywhere- making a huge puddle of light colored liquid.

John's jaw fell open at what happened. The color drained right out of his face as he quickly went to Bret's side. "Oh god, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help." He said grabbing up Bret's arm and hauled the other man up to his feet. "Jesus, I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts and-"

"John, hey- relax. I'm not mad. It was an accident." Bret pulled out some napkins that he had the foresight to buy when he got his doomed cup of coffee. He cleaned off the coffee dripping off his sleeve. "You must have had something important on your mind."

Despite Bret's insistence, Cena wasn't hearing it. "I can't believe I knocked you over, let me help." He stammered and began took some napkins from Bret to help him clean up. His sneaker slid on the coffee puddle as he tried to get closer to help. He tried to steady himself but he lost control and had to grab onto Bret. He brought the man down again to the ground, the both of them landing splayed out on the floor as the napkins rained down. They soaked up the coffee; turning from white to light brown. The shock at what he had done, again, was etched all over John's face. "Oh shit, oh fuck- oh man! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed and got up to his feet. He staggered back up and tried to do the same for Bret.

"No no, I'm fine. I can get up myself." Bret swatted away Cena's hands and stood up. His long hair had coffee soaking through the strands. He made a face; there were few things that were worse than the smell of old coffee in one's hair. He glanced around briefly to see what happened to his napkins. All of which were now soaked in coffee, making them useless. He sighed. "I'm all out of napkins."

"You're all out of napkins?" John's face paled, as if that thought alone was the worst news he ever received. "And you're completely covered in coffee. It's even in your hair."

"I know." He said sharply, examining his hair to see just how much coffee was now in it.

Bret's curt reply stung him. He grabbed at the front of his orange tee shirt, and gulped. "H-Here, let me get that." He unzipped his bag frantically and tore through it, grabbing a clean towel for Bret. He reached out, dabbing awkwardly at Bret's hair.

"John…" He snatched the towel out of his hands. "I can do this myself." He grumbled and tossed the towel over his head, shaking it over his hair in a last ditch attempt to dry it off. While he had his vision cast down ward, he caught a glimpse of Cena's Bret Hart toy in his bag. He looked at the younger man through the strands of his dark hair. Cena looked utterly humiliated. He was babbling on apologies as if it were going out of style. Bret sighed; the great untouchable one- or so he was told- was nothing more than a scolded little boy. "It's alright, John." He said pulling off the towel to look at him. "It was an accident. I'm really not mad. You can relax. Hell, I shouldn't have bought the big size anyway. I'd have been up for hours had I finished it!" He chuckled.

Bret's laugh made him relax. "You mean it? You're really not mad?" John smiled slowly. "…Come on, let me buy you coffee or something. You got that from Starbucks, so it must have had to mortgage your house to buy that size. It's the least I can do for knocking you down. Twice. Spilling your coffee…"

"Awkwardly rubbing my hair?" He teased.

"Awkwardly-" John gulped. "I-I was just trying to help."

"Relax, John! You sure do know how to make an impression. And I think I will take that cup of coffee. There's a café right next to the hotel, we can have a cup there. Just give me some time to shower up. Somehow, I seemed to have gotten all this coffee in my hair." Bret winked at him, and patted his shoulder. "I'll meet you there in an hour."

Cena turned around to watch the older man go. He gulped and then fell against the wall, running his palm over his face. "Man… you are an artist at making an ass out of yourself."

-

Bret looked up at the man who pulled out the chair in front of him, sitting down with a huff. "…Was an hour not enough time to get here? You could have gone and changed- or at least dropped your bag off, I wouldn't have minded waiting an extra couple of minutes."

"No no, I didn't want to keep you waiting. I was pretty positive I was going to miss you. I got declined for a rental car and had to take a taxi here. I don't know if you've tried recently. But man! It's hard to get one of those! And then the guy didn't want to go the quickest way to the hotel, he wanted to take the long way. He said that there was too much traffic and-"

"John- relax. It's fine. You didn't keep me waiting long." He grabbed up the white ceramic cup, taking a sip from his coffee. "I've been relaxing."

Cena looked at the table in front of them. Sure enough, there was a magazine with the pages folded back, and a newspaper opened to the games section. Judging by his quick glance, Bret finished the word search and was well on his way to finishing the jumble. "Oh, well I… I'm glad you weren't bored or anything. …Are you sure it's okay to be here? It's late, don't they want to close or somethin'?"

"It's open past two in the morning. Due to the influx of unhip crowds of soccer moms and business men in the morning, some of the more trendy cafes started catering to the later crowds in hopes of gaining back the hipster influence." Bret smirked a little at the now confused look on John's face. "I spent a lot of time in coffee shops when I wrote for the _Calgary Sun_ and when I was writing my book."

"Oh." John rubbed the back of his neck slightly. "I never thought the hitman would become a trendy hipster-I-drink-expensive-coffee-while-I-write type of guy."

Bret paused for a moment. "That guy was always there. He was just buried under the surface."

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing." Bret waved his hand dismissively. "Aren't you going to get anything?"

"Um, I don't know. Do they have energy drinks here?"

"Yes, it's called coffee." Bret gave him an amused look. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. John, if you weren't comfortable coming to a place like this, why did you offer to get coffee with me? You haven't stopped fidgeting since we got here."

"Well I ruined your coffee." Cena said looking a bit sheepish. "I thought I should replace it. …You really like this kind of thing? The whole arty café with the snooty music playing? Come on. I'm not diggin' this, Bret and I can't believe you are."

Bret sighed and rolled his eyes. "Give it a try, John. So it's a little different than what you're used to; give it a try. And just because the music isn't rap, doesn't mean it's not good. Just listen."

Cena wiggled around in the rod iron chair in an attempt to get comfortable enough to listen. The cheerful song drifted into his ears, it's beat was lively and catchy. He tilted his head to the side, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I guess it's not bad. But hell… I don't know what she's saying. I bet it's something about being French, and doing whatever the French do. I'm sure it would mean more if I knew what it meant."

"Mm, I'm sure that would help." Bret stirred a spoon through his coffee idly as he added in a packet of sugar. "It does sound happy doesn't it? But that's what's so deceiving about it; just because it sounds happy, doesn't mean it is. In actuality, John, the song's quite sad. It's about a woman who has a broken heart; she doesn't want to do the things she once loved because she's upset. Je ne veux pas travailler, je ne veux pas dejeuner, je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume... I don't want to work, I don't want to lunch, I only want to forget so I smoke. I can relate…" He ran his finger over the rim of his coffee cup.

"You speak French?" Was all John was capable of babbling out. Even though the words were sad, the way Bret said them in his husky timbre of a voice made him blush slightly pink.

"Well yeah, it's my country's second language. Everything has French on it, including soda cans."

"Oh." Cena rubbed at the back of his neck again and gave him a sheepish look. "I know barely anything when it comes to French. It sounds great when you say it though, even though the words are sad! I mean, you have that sexy voice. …I well… I…. I'm just going to stop talking."

Bret gave him an amused look. "It's alright, John. I think it's flattering."

John squirmed slightly in his seat. Why was this so hard? He was having lunch with one of his childhood heroes, this should be a great time. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and tired to think of something impressive to say. Bret seemed so smart, so worldly. His mind went into overdrive as he attempted to think of something, anything to say that sounded good. "I… wait. Wait a second. What did you mean when you said you could relate to the song? Aren't you happy..?"

"Well, I'm happy now. But when I was your age I wasn't. I was disappointed with being a wrestler. Pirouette?" Bret offered him one of the long wafer cookies he was munching on occasionally.

"Uh sure." He grabbed one and took a bite. Impressed with the taste, he continued to eat. "But you're changing the subject. Why were you disappointed? I don't get it- you're Bret Hart. You were born to wrestle in a ring, man!"

Bret picked up his coffee once more, and took a sip. He looked over the rim at John with his soulful brown eyes, slowly putting the cup down. "Exactly. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to wrestle? That I wanted to do something different with my life? But, like you said, I was born to wrestle in a ring. I didn't have a choice."

John looked at him owlishly. He took another cookie, and reached out to take Bret's coffee away. In one quick motion, he finished off the drink. "Oh, that is gross! How could you drink that crap?! Ugh!" He smacked his tongue and lips, trying to get the taste off.

Bret blinked. "Why did you steal my coffee- especially if you don't like it?"

"Because it's going to your head, man! The coffee, the weird cookies- the French music I don't understand! You're Bret Hart; the greatest wrestler to ever live! Don't even try to tell me you didn't love it."

"Well… I did love it. But I didn't get the chance to try and be something different. I could have made it on my own as a writer, or an actor." He grumbled. "I didn't get the chance to be something different is what I'm trying to tell you. Ma chambre a la forme d'une cage."

"…Alright, now that's not cool. Don't use words I don't understand. I just… I'm sorry. I don't understand. You always seemed to be happy." He frowned a little. Bret Hart didn't want to be a wrestler? It just didn't compute in his mind.

"I know, John. Let me try and explain it a little better. Everyone in my family was connected to the wrestling business. Aside from that, I was born into a huge family. All I wanted was for my dad to pay some attention to me. The only way to really do that was be a part of the business. Every time I drew something, or wrote something, my dad didn't have the time to look. But if I did something in the ring, he always had time. So… I learned early on that if I wanted to do anything, it would have to be in a ring. Everything else would always come second. The ring was my cage. Even though I loved it, it always felt… like it was holding me back."

John sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Bret. I didn't know you had such a… desire to do different things."

"Really?" Bret raised an eyebrow. "I left to go act for awhile. I drew stuff for the WWF magazine. I did voice acting. I cut a really awful track for a WWF CD. I had a role in a TV show. I wrote for the Calgary Sun. I was in a musical twice."

"Well yeah, there's all that. But you still came back." He grinned slowly. "So it must be a pretty nice cage. Does it get HD tv or something?"

Bret burst out laughing, and John's grin grew larger. "It does now. My cage is like a four star hotel room. Jacuzzi tub included."

"You got room for me in that cage?" John leaned in a bit closer, putting his elbows up on the table.

"Maybe." Bret moved in a bit more. "…You owe me another cup of coffee you know. Technically two, because I bought the one you stole."

"How about I buy you a red bull instead? It tastes better."

"You mean you'd rather not meet again like this?"

John suddenly flushed, painfully aware of how close Bret was to him. He could really see those incredible brown eyes up close and personal. How anyone could possibly wrestle with Bret looking at them like that suddenly became a huge mystery for him. "I uh… you want to see me again?"

Bret smiled. John gulped. Come to think of it, John rarely remembered Bret ever smiling. Why he didn't was yet another mystery. It was a nice smile. Warm hands on his face snapped him out of it. He didn't have time to react as he felt Bret's lips crashing against his. Shocked, he didn't move. It wasn't registering. Finally as he got the nerve to even think about kissing Bret back, the soft lips were gone.

"What do you think, John?" Bret's question was soft; he nearly missed it.

"I…" He sputtered out. "I…. I need to use the bathroom!" He got up quickly from the chair and stumbled over to the bathroom door. "Fuck!" He exclaimed loudly as the word echoed against the ceramic tile of the bathroom walls. He went over to the paper towel dispenser and grabbed a wad of them, soaking them in the sink. He pressed the wet towels against the back of his neck in an attempt to cool down. He glanced up in the mirror taking notice of how bright red his face was. "Why is it so easy to make an ass out of yourself but so hard to make yourself look good?"John groaned.

One of his childhood heroes was interested in him, yet somehow he couldn't find the strength to get back out there. "He probably thinks I'm the most immature idiot- ugh. I pick on the café, I pick on the music, I stole his coffee! Why is he still interested in me? Why did he let me of all people know those deeply personal things?" He asked as his expression stared back at him with the same confusion. "Why the hell am I asking you anyway, this is your fault. I don't know what Bret sees in us." He said and then chuckled. "Oh Cena, now you're talkin' to yourself. Doesn't that just beat all?"

John threw the paper towels out in the garbage with a sigh. Out there was Bret Hart; the man, the myth, the legend, and the guy with the really soft lips. That kiss was something special, and all he could do was sit there rigid like a block of wood. He kicked at the ground, muttering soft expletives at his behavior. Hopefully he still had a shot. Hopefully Bret didn't change his mind. He pressed his fingers to his lips as if to savor the feel of Bret before it was gone forever. "I gotta get back out there." He mumbled, pushing open the door.

But when he looked around the room, Bret was gone. Cena sucked his teeth. "Man…" He grumbled going over to the table to collect his stuff. On the top of the table was his Bret Hart figure of all things. "What the hell…?" He murmured. He reached down and grabbed it, turning it over in his hand. On the back written on the toy's legs was a phone number and the words 'call me' written on the other leg.

John stared at the number and the neat printing on the toy, a slow smile spreading across his face. He carefully packed the toy back into his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He glanced over to the bored barista behind the counter. With an unshakable grin, in butchered French he uttered "Au revoir!" and walked out of the café with his head held high for the first time in a long time.

FIN

Closing notes: I know not many of you are Cena fans, but I couldn't get this one out of my head. I'm trying to write pairings and people I don't normally do. Hopefully you found this one as enjoyable as I did to write it.

*****I make no claim to whether or not Bret felt like the ring was a cage or not. It was just a device used in the story to fit the song*****

If you were interested in this pairing, Redsandman99 has an excellent story .net/s/5770803/1/Crush that features Cena/Bret.

I am not sure what the next story will be, whether it bet het, slash, or just general. I have some ideas kicking around. Anyway, thank you for your time!


	3. The Resistance

(This chapter is a SLASH STORY. If you do not like M/M please DO NOT READ IT. You have been appropriately warned.)

Fic title: The Resistance  
Song: The Resistance by Muse  
Characters: Jeff Jarrett, HBK  
Mentions of: Bischoff, Kevin Nash  
Rated: M for M/M SEX  
Pairing: HBK/JJ (some Bischoff/JJ, and Bischoff/HBK)  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: This is a story for the spring slash challenge. Jeff Jarrett contemplates his role in TNA when he gets a surprise visitor from his past.

-

He held in the palm of his hand a piece from the neck of his broken guitar. It seemed like a good idea at the time; go out and bean Bischoff on the head. The consequences of his actions didn't seem that harsh. Sure, Bischoff was going to rant and moan, cause a fuss and he was probably going to end up flipping more burgers or cleaning up restrooms again. Yet here he was labeled as Eric Bischoff's new 'bitch', and Mick was out of a job. He ran his thumb over the broken piece of lacquered wood, sighing. This wasn't how he wanted to be seen, yet here he was. His girls at home had to be embarrassed to all hell by him, and frankly, he didn't blame them.

"There you are."

Jeff's heart sunk a bit lower when he heard the sound of Eric's sickeningly cheerful voice invading his ears. No man was ever that happy unless they were up to something. "Whaddya want, Bischoff?" He muttered keeping his eyes focused on his hands and the white ceramic floor beneath him. "Haven't ya done enough already to me for one Monday night, or are ya gonna try to shit on my night some more?"

Eric tilted his head to the side a bit, a slow smirk sneaking on to his face. "Naw, I think I could do much worse than what you've experienced so far tonight. But I thought I'd bring you a little gift. I figured since you're my new bitch, you need a wardrobe change." His smirk grew larger as Jeff's expression sunk further. He reached into his dark brown blazer, pulling out a red leather studded collar with the words 'Eric's Bitch' written out in rhinestones. "Wear it next week at the tapings. I want everyone to know your new role. There'll be no more of this 'Double J savior of TNA' crap after next week." Eric waved the collar in front of Jeff's sullen face until the blonde man took it. "That's a good boy." He said patting his puffy blonde hair. Eric reached down taking Jeff's face by the chin. He gave it a good squeeze before continuing. "I trust you'll obey me very well. Till then, toodles!" He stroked Jeff's face briefly, sliding out of the locker room with that shit eating smirk still present on his face.

Jeff squeezed the red leather collar in his fists, the frustration slowly over taking him. He let out an angry growl and chucked it across his locker room. It hit the lockers and bounced off, rolling back toward him until it came to rest on his foot. He stared down at it gloomily, not appreciating how nicely it returned to him. "…Dang…" He let out a slow sigh, trying to calm himself down again.

"Aw, JJ- I think red's your color."

Jeff jumped slightly at the sound of a very familiar voice. There, leaning against the wall of the bathroom shower stall was none other than Shawn Michaels. A very wet Shawn Michaels, wearing nothing but a smirk and a towel. He flushed slightly with embarrassment and shame. Shawn had obviously heard his conversation with Bischoff. He coughed a little, not wanting to talk about that subject in particular. He looked down at the familiar fluffy towel wrapped around Shawn's waist. "…Is that my towel?" He paused and sniffed the air. "And my cologne?"

"Yeah. Figured I'd borrow it. I also borrowed your shampoo, your conditioner, your hair brush, and your deodorant! You really need to learn to lock your door, JJ." He snickered slightly at the shocked expression on Jeff's face. "Now look, before you let what's goin' on sink further into your head, let me explain myself. I'm here to help you. Give you a pep talk." He flopped down on the bench beside Jeff, leaning down to pick the collar up. "I know you got Bischoff problems."

"They ain't like Shawn Michaels problems." Jeff grumbled and scooted down a bit to avoid any direct contact with a man who took his title during his first time at the WWF, and whose friend shaved him bald during his second run. "What's your angle, glamour-puss?"

"No angle. Just trying to do my Christianly duty, JJ." He twirled the collar around on his index finger. "I had Bischoff problems once too. Back in 2003 when I would do anything to kick the crap outta Hun'ner, Bischoff was the one that made it happen." He sighed and pouted. "I can't tell ya how many times I've been bent over that damn desk because I was so damn stubborn."

Jeff's face scrunched up. "Oh that's a mental image I did not want in my head, thank ya Shawn." He groaned and ran a hand down his face. "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but you're still pretty damn stubborn."

"Don't give me that look. You know as well as I do that it's a Southern thing." Shawn said flippantly. "But while I did what I did because I wanted it, you don't want this. So what are ya gonna do, JJ?" He asked scooting closer to the other southerner. "Are ya gonna put up with it?"

"…I suppose I gotta." Jeff snatched the collar from Shawn's hand, and moved further down the bench, making a face as Shawn did the same. "Maybe if I do a good job, Bischoff'll lay off on some of the other guys."

Shawn's raised eye brow and frown made Jeff sigh. "Are you really that dumb J-E double F, J-A double R E double T? Men like Eric Bischoff don't let up when they've got what they wanted. They just continue to take… and take… and take…" He continued to move closer to Jeff even though they were rapidly running out of bench space. "Until you're on the floor, with nowhere else to go." He grinned leaning over to look at Jeff who had fallen off the bench.

Jeff looked up at the blonde and his sparkling blue eyes indignantly. "Well, what the fuck do ya want me to do, Shawn?! This used to be me and my daddy's company! We started it way back when, and now… I don't even recognize it thanks to them jokers! Now Mick gets fired because I decided to show Bischoff a little taste of southern justice; what else can I do but comply? I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. It's Mick, JJ! Since when does he listen to the rules?! I'm sure he'll be back here bobbin' along like usual next week Monday regardless of what ole Bischoff has to say. But you're damn right. You did start this company. Where's that old fightin' southern spirit? Did ya lose it along the wayside some place? Did ya forget what it means to be a man, JJ? Where's your pride?"

Jeff bit his lip. "I… I've been through a lot, Shawn. I just don't…" He trailed off. "I don't have it anymore."

"Yes you do." Shawn got down on the ground with Jeff. "It's inside you, JJ. That's why I came here. I wasn't the nicest guy to you back then, but I figured maybe I should attempt to remedy that with you. If I can help you, why don't you let me?"

Jeff sighed looking at Shawn's face. He looked sincere amongst other things, especially with those incredible blue eyes and the soft, wet tendrils of hair framing his face. "…I guess I could just hear what you had to say. But it better be damn good!" He poked Shawn in the chest feeling his cheeks heat up slightly.

Shawn nodded. "Oh it's damn good alright." He grinned leaning in to kiss Jeff. He grabbed onto the surprised blonde's shoulders holding him in place while he teased, pecked and sucked on his lips. Jeff remained still while Shawn's lips moved on to his cheek, down his neck, and to his shoulder.

Finally Jeff pushed him away. "Knock it off! That's kissin'! Kissin' just makes things worse, it doesn't make things better!" He protested looking flushed and annoyed.

"Oh I beg to differ. I'm HBK, my kisses are pure magic." He grinned advancing on his hands and knees toward Jarrett while the younger man scuttled backward. "They fix everything if you let them." Shawn purred pressing his lips again to Jeff's.

Jeff grumbled slightly and shut his eyes wanting it to be over as soon as possible. However, as time passed, he found himself kissing Shawn back. It felt decent to kiss Shawn, despite all the headaches he caused in the past. He found himself putting his arms around Shawn, pulling the blonde man closer to him.

Shawn situated himself between the other blonde's stretched legs, resting his knee lightly against his groin. He rubbed Jeff through the thin material of his ring gear, slowly feeling hardness form against his knee. "Magic lips?" He cooed pulling off Jarrett's shorts.

"Fine… Magic lips."Jeff groaned out and let his hands trail down Shawn's sides. He tugged the fluffy towel from around Shawn's waist, letting it fall to the tiled floor. "You tell anyone about this, glamour-puss, and I will hurt ya."

Shawn gave him a playful wink. "I won't- so forget about el-Kabonging me."

-

Jeff remained half slumped up against the lockers, half sprawled out on the floor- memories still dancing in his mind of what just happened. Shawn buried himself deep inside Jeff, giving him answers to questions he didn't even know he had. His lower body stung slightly as he attempted to move. He settled on shutting his eyes, thinking of Shawn's face frowning in concentration as he rocked deeply into his body. Every thrust Shawn made, every time he brushed against his that tiny bundle of nerves, made stars explode in front of Jeff's vision.

Shawn was such a frustrating human being, but he fucked well. He knew exactly what Jeff needed, where he needed, and almost in some cosmic sense, why he needed it. The way those blue eyes raked over his body while he pushed Jarrett's legs up toward his shoulders to drill deep inside him. Jeff sighed, his hand still wrapped around the towel Shawn stole from him.

The older blonde had long since gone; had to go off and catch up with Nash, or so Jeff figured. "Musta been how he got into the building." He muttered out loud and sighed. Slowly he eased himself up into a sitting position. He yelped out, feeling the sting intensify now that he was sitting up. "God damn Shawn and his god damn pushy kisses…" He winced getting up to his knees to alleviate the pain. Once he was sure he could move he hobbled over to the shower, passing by the red collar on the bench.

Reaching down, he picked up the collar running his fingers over the rhinestone words. He shut his eyes, Shawn's last words to him ringing out clear as day in his mind. _You're Jeff Jarrett, double J. You started this company; it wouldn't exist if not for you. Don't let Bischoff make you think otherwise. Be proud of yourself, the guys in the back need you now more than ever_.

He let out a sigh. Shawn was right. He couldn't give up and let Eric win. Too many people depended on him to be strong; to lead them against the crap Bischoff and Hogan were trying to play. "This was my company, and I'll be damned if someone's gonna ruin it like WCW. I'm gonna fight, even if it's gonna be a one man resistance!" He grabbed the leather collar in his fists pulling on it until it broke in two. He threw the remains in the waste basket, standing up strong despite the dull ache in his lower body.

Eventually, all bravado melted away as the pain increased. He winced, putting a hand on his ass as he made his way into the shower. "Dang glamour-puss." He muttered stepping over the shower rim. The hot water ran down Jeff's sore body, a sort of welcoming escape from the day's activities. However, he couldn't help but smile when he thought of Shawn. Maybe one day he could return his 'Christianly' favor.

FIN.


	4. When You're Evil

(This chapter is a SLIGHTLY SLASHY story. There is a mention of a dirty request. I give you fair warning)

Fic title: When You're Evil  
Song: When You're Evil- Voltaire  
Characters: Eric Bischoff, Jeff Jarrett  
Mentions of: Raven  
Rated: T for language and a dirty request  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Bischoff torments his bitch, double J Jeff Jarrett. I highly suggest you listen to the song. It makes the fic funnier.  
Genre: General

Special dedication: This story is for SimplyCath. She pretty much came up with the idea for the one segment. Her Eric Bischoff is Satan himself, and I absolutely love it. So, this one's to you Cath! I hope you enjoy it!

-

Jeff Jarrett stared at the lockers in front of him. Each one was polished, clean, and so orderly. His reflection distorted in length and size shone in the smooth surface. He removed the blue rubber gloves from his hands dumping them on the tile floor as he uttered a slow, even sigh. "Done." He gave another yawn, stretching out his arms as he got to his feet. He reached down picking up the bucket of dirty sudsy water to carry over to the sink.

He tipped the bucket in, watching all the dirty water run out and spiral down the drain. He tossed the bucket aside, feeling himself smile a little more when he turned around to see the glittering surfaces of the bathroom shining back at him. "Fucking done."

The door to the bathroom swung open, banging loudly on the locker room doors. Eric poked his head in, adjusting his hat. He let out a low, impressed whistle. "Well I'll be! Isn't that nice? You can see my handsome self in pretty much every surface in this room."

"Great, now can I go?"Jeff said as he crossed his arms across his face. His lips twitched in annoyance. "Or do ya have some other stupid task for me to do tonight."

"Oh Jeff Jeff, _Jeff_! Would I make you do more things to ruin your night? Of course I would! Bring that guitar of yours with you."

Jeff sucked in a deep breath, letting it out of his nose in a slow even pace. "Fine." He grumbled. "Exactly where are we goin'?"

-

"I'll have another glass of wine please." Eric told the waiter. "Don't hold back on it either. I want the most expensive bottle."

The spindly waiter nodded, looking over at Jeff from the end of his nose. "And what about the gentleman with the guitar?"

Eric waved his hand. "Oh, none for him I'm afraid. He's just 'the help'." He gave the waiter a knowing nod, looking to Jarrett. "I brought you here to provide dinner music for me while eat one of the world's best steaks. Do you like steaks, Double J?"

Jeff's stomach growled as a large steak on a plate went right by him. It looked so good, so thick and juicy he couldn't help but lick his lips. "Yeah… It's one of my favorites…"

"Then you'd probably like what I'm having. It's a big, thick T-bone steak seasoned expertly and then grilled to pure perfection. There's nothing like a big steak and a glass of wine is there, JJ?"

Jarrett's mind screamed at him to stop and not give more for Eric to torture him with, but as more and more mentions of juicy steak made his stomach growl even louder. "Nah, nothin' better." He murmured.

Eric stared at him for a moment with a big smile on his face. "You're damn right, JJ." He turned his attention on the big steak plopped down in front of him by the waiter. The steak was as thick and juicy as Eric described, looking delectable on the plate. "Mm. Nothing like a steak." He smirked and began to cut through the meat. He brought a piece up to his mouth and moaned. "Oh, it melts in your mouth. Just like butter."

Jeff's mouth felt parched. "Really...? That's just how I like it."

"Yeah, I really wish I could share it with ya but this is my steak. Just like this glass of wine here is my wine… And you're my entertainment, so why don't you start entertaining? Maybe I'll give you a dinner roll if it's good enough."

Jeff bit his lip as he forced down a moan. His stomach growled again, making its presence known once more. He shut his eyes trying to find the will to concentrate long enough to play the guitar._ He only wants me to break down and beg, but I won't. Jeff Jarrett is too damn proud for that._ He schooled himself to keep a serious expression as he strummed on his guitar. "Spend my day working hard on the go- But the hands on the clock keep spinning too slow. Cause I can't wait to be alone with my baby tonight. You know my baby's got me wrapped around her little old finger, cause she knows that I'd walk through hell and back just to be with her. Oh I can't wait to be alone with my baby tonight." He had to take a moment to pause, transfixed by the way Eric slowly, and teasingly slid the knife through the meat, bringing the piece up to savor every last bit of flavor.

"Well, continue. That roll you might get keeps getting smaller." Eric made a gesture with his hand for him to keep going.

Jeff swallowed hard. "Turn the lights off bar the doors, and we'll leave all the worries of the world behind. Hold me in your arms never let me go. Baby it's true - I got a one track mind, but it's hard to concentrate around a steak like that."

Eric chuckled. "Oh JJ. Gotta love you for that one track mind of yours. Do you want a piece of steak, JJ? Are you hungry from all that cleaning and hollering you call singing?"

Jeff's eyes went to the piece of steak Eric was cutting. "Yeah…" He rasped leaning on the table for support. His legs shivered and shook, the hunger sweeping over his form. "Just a little piece. That's all I need!"

"You mean this piece?" Eric held up the fork, watching as Jeff nearly salivated in front of him. "I do have to admit, it's a nice piece of meat. Cooked just right, nice and tender… Cut from the middle of the steak. You can't beat that now can you?"

"Eric… please… I'm really hungry." He reached out to grab the fork.

Eric brought the piece up to his lips, licking at it briefly. "Here you go."

Jeff took the fork with a look of disdain on his face. "But you licked it!"

"Uh huh. I'm not sick. It's either that piece of nothing."

Jeff sighed and without a second thought shoved the piece of meat into his mouth. He chewed happily, swallowing it down. "Mmm. That's good. Very good."

"Isn't it though? Why don't you take a seat? You've been on your feet all day; I bet you could use a chance to sit down. Wine?"

Jarrett nodded dumbly glad to finally be able to sit down; especially on a soft plush chair. "Mmm, yeah. I'll take some." He grabbed the glass by the neck, drinking down the dark red liquid down.

"Have you any idea of what would make this steak better, JJ?"

Jeff tilted his head to the side. "No… what?" He asked with a slow frown forming on his face. "It seemed pretty damn fine to me just on its own."

"A good old fashioned BJ, JJ. That's what would be really great right now. Do a good job, I'll let you have the rest of the steak."

Jeff shot up out of the chair, knocking the piece of furniture over. "Absolutely not! No way! No how! I'm outta here!" He grabbed the neck of the guitar storming right out of the restaurant. Eric shrugged his shoulder, cutting another piece of steak for himself. He chewed on the meat, checking the time on his watch idly. Soon enough, Jeff came back in dragging his feet and the guitar behind him. "I forgot you were my ride." He muttered sheepishly as he put the chair back on its feet. He rested his guitar against the table, getting ready to flop down in the chair to rest his aching feet. .

"Don't even think about sitting down, Jarrett. You're the entertainment. Get back to singing. You had your chance to have steak with me and you missed it."

Jeff's expression fell. "Yes, Eric. " He muttered grabbing up his guitar again.

-

Finally the day had come. The one day of the week that made all of the constant torment mildly worth it: pay day. He kicked the door open to Eric's office. "Well Bischoff, here I am. I've come for my paycheck! I can't even to begin to tell ya the plans I got for this money." Visions of a delicious steak danced in front of his eyes; it had been on his mind since Eric enticed him with it the other day. He put his hands on Eric's desk, waiting eagerly for his money.

"Oh. Hey JJ." Eric sighed leaning back in the chair. "It is pay day, isn't it?" He said putting his hands behind his head. "Do you like what I've done with the office?"

Jeff looked around briefly. Nothing really stuck out as being different except for the young woman with the enormous rack hanging off the back of Eric's chair. "Ya did somethin'? It looks the same to me."

"Puh-lease." Eric motioned to the woman behind him. "How could you not notice my new desk attachment?"

"Oh uh, yeah. I see her." He frowned. "Eric, can I please get my check? I got things I wanna do and those don't include talkin' to you about your interior decorating taste."

Eric sucked in a breath, making a tsk tsk noise. "Oh JJ, I'm afraid I just can't do that."

Jeff's face scrunched up; his upper lip twitching slowly. "Why the hell not?!"

"I donated it to charity. Thought you wouldn't mind." Eric shrugged a shoulder.

"C-Charity? You donated the whole damn thing to charity?! Which charity?" He demanded, feeling the burning anger creep up out of his stomach. He couldn't get too mad knowing that his money went to some place where they needed it, but his steak eluded him once more.

"No, you misunderstood me. This is Charity! She's a stripper. How else do you think I got her to stand here all day being my desk attachment?" Eric smirked with glee as Jeff's face turned a brilliant shade of purple. "So if you don't mind… I'd like you to leave. Have a good day, JJ!"

"Well now hold on! Ya can't do that! That's my hard earned money- ya can't donate it to a damn stripper! I ain't goin' till you give me my money!"

Eric sighed. "Obviously I can and I did. Besides, Charity doesn't make refunds. If you're not going to leave on your own accord I'll get one of my associates to make you leave. Head goon! I need you!"

Raven sighed walking into the office. His shoulders slumped and his scowl was more present than it had been in previous years. "Yeah Bischoff, what do you want?" He muttered dryly.

"Escort JJ out of my office, please. He's upsetting Charity."

"God damn it, let me go Raven! I got business to finish with Bischoff! This isn't over!"

Eric watched as Jeff left the room, a big smile on his face. "Bye JJ! See you later." He glanced up to the woman hanging off the back of his chair. "He's cute when he's angry, don't you think?"

-

Jeff arrived at the next TNA tapings, his guitar dragging behind him. His shoulders hung low, and his smile was nowhere to be found. He sighed softly as he pushed open the door of his locker room. Inside the middle of the room was a fancy table, much like the one Eric was sitting at last week when he had the most beautiful piece of steak Jeff had ever seen. He paused, sniffing the air. "God damn!" That delicious smell of T-bone steak from the other night was heavy in the room. Instantly he groaned, placing a shaking hand on his stomach.

On the middle of the table, there was a big silver platter with a matching case over the top of it. With a weak hand, he pulled it off. Sure enough, there was that steak, looking just as delectable as it did the night before. Jeff dropped his guitar, and unquestionably sat down to dig into his steak and wine. It tasted every bit as juicy as the morsel did the night before, and the wine was just as sweet.

"So, are you enjoying the steak?"

Jeff's shoulders instantly clenched up as if he were wrapped up in a vice. Slowly, he turned. "You got me this steak?"

Eric nodded, leaning against the door frame of the locker room. "Gotta reward my bitch once in awhile."

Jeff chewed a little slower, swallowing hard. "And you set it up?"

"Yep. Set the whole table up myself."

Jeff put the silverware down. "What did you do to the steak?"

Eric pouted. "I didn't do a damn thing to the steak. So eat! How could I do something to such a beautiful piece of meat?"

"…True." He muttered and picked up the glass of wine to take a drink.

"Actually, it was the wine I drugged."

Jeff spit out the wine. "Why the hell would you do that?!" He shouted feeling his body grow weaker.

Eric paused, as if trying to find the right words to say. Finally, he smirked. "Do you remember those kids who would pick on other kids because they secretly liked them?"

Jeff paled. He nodded.

"Same thing here, cept I like to make you miserable too. You make this cute little 'I'm suffering!' face. Have a nice nap, JJ!" He waved to the wavering blonde. After shutting the door, he stopped to listen for the loud thud that followed. Chuckling to himself, he whistled as he went back to the office to start the show.

FIN.

Next up: We make a return to a retro fic- a Ric, Roddy, and Ricky Steamboat story!


	5. Uneasy Rider

(THIS CHAPTER IS A GENERAL STORY. THERE IS NO SLASH BETWEEN CHARACTERS THAT IS INTENTIONAL)

Fic title: Uneasy Rider  
Song: Uneasy Rider by the Charlie Daniels Band  
Characters: Ricky Steamboat, Ric Flair, Roddy Piper  
Mentions of: N/A  
Rated: T for language and an awkward scene in the bar  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Ric, Roddy, and Ricky ride down south for a show. Takes place in the 1970's.  
Genre: General

1975

The air outside was sticky and hot as the dark red Cadillac cut through the backwoods roads of the deep south. Ric had his arm resting outside of the window, his hand drumming lightly on the smooth surface of the car's door as he navigated the rough dirt road. Roddy had his boots and socks off, kicking up his feet to rest slightly outside of the window. His seat was all the way back, the humidity laden winds tickling the hair on his brow gently. In the back Ricky was stretched out, his arms behind his head, face turned to watch the clouds go by out the back window.

"It's not that hot." Ric drawled out snickering as he got a one finger response from Roddy. "You're just grumpy because you're not used to the heat. Me and Ricky got this humidity down."

"Yeah, this is like a walk in the park compared to Hawaii Roddy."

"Ya both got it wrong!" Roddy waved his hands at them, bringing his hand up to wipe his sweaty brow. "I'm 'grumpy' because your damn air conditioner in your damn caddy is fuckin' broke. That's why I'm 'grumpy'."

"Yeah yeah, you know I'm the kiss of death when it comes to cars so you shouldn't be too surprised." Ric laughed letting his head rest against the back of the seat. "You should be lucky that it's just the air conditioner and not something more."

Roddy shifted in his seat. "I guess." He fanned himself with a folded up agenda, turning his attention on the strange wisps of smoke. They coiled out from under the dashboard in long grey strands. "Uh, Ric?"

"You'll get used to it Roddy, don't worry. The heats really not that bad when you get used to it, it's like getting into a cold swimming pool. Eventually it warms up. Uh, only it'd be in the reverse of the situation- forget it. I just confused myself."

Ricky sat up, frowning when he saw the smoke. "Already forgotten. Uh, Ric-"

"No, no- hang on. I'll think of one of those metaphor things for this. I just gotta think. But it's pretty fuckin' hard with that smell. Does anyone else smell that?"

Roddy reached over and grabbed Ric's head, forcing the blonde man to look down. "Holy fuck! That's smoke!" He slammed on the breaks hard, sending Ricky rolling off the backseat. Roddy braced himself on the dash before he went flying through the windshield. Ric's head slammed into the steering wheel, leaving the blonde slightly dazed. "Outta the car!" Roddy threw open the door and got out, watching as his friends all did the same.

Smoke crept out of the car as Ric staggered out of the car, waving his hand in front of his face to keep the smoke away from him as much as he could. He hated the smell, and how it would linger on any fabric. He coughed loudly, pulling at his shirt as it felt like it was going to gag him. He threw the red hot keys onto the ground before he stumbled down to the ground. Ricky grabbed up the keys, opening up the trunk to get their things out of it just in case the unthinkable happened.

"Pipes, this is your field of expertise buddy." Ric coughed waving his hand in front of his face.

"I ain't sure how good of a mechanic you think I am, but there's not much I can do for a car that's smokin' up like this until it's cleared out. I think you must have burned out some wires or somethin'." Roddy frowned waving the driver's side door back and forth to try and clear out the smoke. "I guess so long as it's not on fire we should be good. Let's just wait till the smoke clears and then maybe I can see what's wrong."

Ric rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We got plenty of time to wait anyway." He said glancing into the car as something bright orange and flickering caught his attention. "Oh, Roddy!"

"Come on Ric, it won't be that bad. I can fix it. I won't charge ya or nuthin' like that so what's the big deal?"

"Fire!" Ric stammered and scuttled backward on his hands.

Roddy peered into the door cautiously. The flames licked up the steering column, prompting Roddy to yank himself back fast. "Um. Never mind. We should probably run. Cars on fire tend to, ya know, explode after a bit. Especially your crown soaked caddy."

"We can't save the damn car?!" Ric grabbed his suitcase from Ricky and dug through it, desperately looking for water. After a brief moment of frantic searching through expensive suits, he wailed out "All I have is crown!"

Ricky watched as the flames engulfed the steering wheel, spreading quickly to Ric's leather seats. "Yeah, that's really not going to help things. We should probably run before the fire reaches the more flammable materials- like your emergency crown stash."

Roddy cocked his head to the side. "You're always so rational Ricky, even in times like these." He grabbed Ric's arm, pulling the blonde away from the sight of his burning car before the conniption fits started on in. The three men fled the scene, making it a good way up the hill before turning around just in time to see the car over come in heat and flames. After watching the flames lick at the shelled out remains of the car for a few moments, he turned his attention back to his friends. "Considering the car is getting a hero's funeral, should someone say a few words?"

Ric sighed running his wrist over his forehead. "I guess I will." He looked down at the burning remains of his car, and with a heavy sigh he straightened his shoulders up a bit. "Once every few months, I seem to need a new car. Caddy number ten was a loyal vehicle; she started up every time I slid the key into her. Her ride was smooth and never too rough. Yes, I was hoping Caddy number ten would stay around for a bit more than the standard life of my cars, but… I've never had one go like this. I'm glad we weren't inside when it blew up. Amen."

"Remind me that I don't want you to give me a eulogy when the time comes." Ricky said and shook his head with a sigh. "Alright, come on guys. Let's get walking. I'm sure there's someplace where we can make a phone call to get a ride."

The three men walked; they walked until their feet throbbed inside of their shoes. Roddy discarded his shirt somewhere between mile two and four. He trudged on, carrying a half out of it Ric on his back. "Now whose being the baby about the heat?" He grumbled feeling the other man's long platinum hair occasionally brushing against the sides of his face.

Ric's love for fine suits conflicted too much with the heat of the Deep South. Even though he removed his top coat, and buttoned down shirt it didn't help much. Clad in his undershirt and pants, he laid limp against Roddy's back. "I am." He muttered gruffly. "I can't help it."

Ricky marched on ahead of them, their luggage in his arms. He was miserable too; the buzzing ring of the cicadas echoing through the thick air made his head ache. "You're both babies. I'm like a fucking pack mule up here. So… relax. I'm sure we'll find something."

"Find something?! You said that like… two hundred miles ago." Roddy groaned burning holes into Ricky's back. "There isn't anything here! There isn't anything anywhere in this back water hell hole unless you count the freakin' bugs that are eatin' me alive back here and the hillbillies just _dying_ to see which one of us has the 'real pretty mouth'."

"Ya know… I knew we shouldn'a gone to see Deliverance before we got sent down here." Ric drawled and patted Roddy's head. "Don't worry Roddy, as long as we don't hear any banjo playin' I think we'll be good."

"That ain't funny, Ric!" Roddy frowned looking back at him. "Though… the more that I think about it, I bet Ricky's the one with the prettiest mouth."

"I agree. What do you say about that, Ricky?"

"Ricky wants no part of this conversation, and is electing to ignore the both of you. And Ric, for a guy supposedly suffering from heat stroke, you're pretty talkative all of a sudden."

"Hey- hey hey hey. Don't tell me how to have a heat stroke!" Ric protested dramatically. He opened his mouth to say something else, but when his blue eyes spotted a ramshackle bar up in the distance, he paused. "Look! Salvation!" He hopped effortlessly from Roddy's back and stretched. "Thanks for the piggy back ride, Pipes. I owe you a cold one when you get to the bar. I'll keep a bar stool warm for ya!"

Ricky and Roddy watched the other man take off down the dusty road. "You know, you think we'd know better by now." Ricky sighed and shook his head.

"Nah. It's Ric. Ya can't tell what that guy is thinkin', but right now I think I might have a clue- and I think I want the same damn thing. I'll see you at the bar, Ricky!"

"Aw come on! Just because you guys share the same wave length doesn't mean you can't let me in on the joke!" Ricky sighed, letting his shoulders slump. "I give up, I really do." He dragged the cases behind him as he trudged down the dirt road to the bar. Having approached the bar, he spotted his two companions still out front. "Come on, you haven't gone inside yet? What's the hold up? What happened to salvation?"

Roddy pointed to the ramshackle bar with his thumb. "Ric's got a bad feeling about the place, Steamy."

"Can ya blame me?" Ric's face turned sour as he motioned to the tacked up faded rebel flag proudly displayed in the window. "I thought this would be a good bet, but I'm not so sure now. Seems like a real good old boys club. And for whatever crazy reason, I don't think those good old boys'll appreciate a poof, a scot, and a half Japanese guy interrupting their good old boy time."

"Oh come on Ric! That's never stopped you before anywhere else." Roddy made a face at him.

"Well yeah, of course not. You know how much I appreciate a good bar fight, but these aren't your normal bar fighting kind. These kind usually have guns, big guns. Guns like shot guns." Ric said pounding his fist into his palm after each word for emphasis. "They usually aren't shy about using them either."

"Then we won't get our asses into trouble. I'm hot, miserable, and tired. Inside there's something to drink and some shade. You two can wait around out here in the heat if you want, but I'm going in there." Ricky dropped their bags with a pronounced thud, kicking up dust once they hit the ground.

Roddy shrugged his shoulders, following in after Ricky. Ric stood outside the bar by himself, staring up at the rickety old building with a look of dismay on his face. He swallowed hard, following in after his two friends. Ricky and Roddy didn't move much into the bar, even when Ric collided into them. They remained in the front, almost glued to the spot. Ric peered over their shoulders to look around. Immediately the stench of old beer and older cigarettes hung thick like a blanket over the entirety of the bar.

It was as dark as he thought; the wood inside had long since aged to a blackened color. The floor beneath their feet was splintered and cracked, black like walls. A few lights hung over the bar, over a dingy old pool table and one barely illuminated the faces of the three men standing in the door way. The few men in the bar turned to look at the intruders. Their faces were sun battered and creased, some sporting facial hair, the others looking slightly grizzled with bad shave jobs. The man behind the bar was a portly fellow with a mass of stringy gray hair. He turned neck slowly to the three men. One of his eyes looked glazed over and opaque as he bore holes into them. "You a Cher-o-kee?" He asked in a gruff voice, indicating for just how many years this man smoked several packs of cigarettes.

Ricky's throat went dry. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Ric grabbed the back of Ricky's head, nodding it for him.

"We like Cher-o-kees in this bar. Come on over with your friends and have a drink."

"You heard im' oh fearless leader." Ric growled into Ricky's ear, shoving him toward the bar. "You too, Roddy. You guys look sorta normal. Distract them while I go find a phone to call for a ride or something- watch my back."

Roddy nodded, patting Ric's shoulder as the blonde man slipped into the darkness of the bar. "Yep! Ricky's a parakeet!" He grinned at the bartender.

"Cherokee." Ricky muttered quickly to him.

"Seriously? He sounds like he's saying parakeet." Roddy whispered back to him.

Ricky rubbed his temples a little as they sat down at the bar. "Yeah, because that makes a lot of sense. I am never driving with you two again, you realize this right?"

"Fbbt. Nonsense! We're the three musketeers. You'll say that but in like a week or so, you'll be back driving with us." He turned his attention on the bartender with the bad eye. "Soooo, what have ya got back there that'll parch the thirst of some weary old travelers?"

"Moonshine. Finest in all the deep south."

Ricky raised an eyebrow, and Roddy shrugged a shoulder. "Uh, sure. Two moonshines for me and my friend."

"Ya got it." The bartender picked up two dingy glasses from under the bar, filling them both up. "There."

Ricky's upper lip twitched as he glanced down at the dirty glass. "Thanks." Already deciding on not drinking it, he looked over to see Roddy not having the slightest problem chugging it down. "Here." He said sliding his glass over to him. He turned his attention on Ric, the bright platinum shock of shoulder length hair sticking out in the dank like a fire fly in the evening.

Ric gripped the phone while he waited for an answer from Crockett's office. The endless ring sank Ric's hope as each second ticked on by. "Come on, damn it!" He growled drumming his fingers impatiently on the top of the phone booth.

"I like yer pretty hair."

Ric blinked for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder slowly at the lanky guy with the trucker hat standing far too close to him. His flannel shirt was half buttoned, and his greasy hair clung to the sides of his boney face. He glanced over to Ricky and Roddy to see if they were keeping an eye on the situation, but he couldn't see them. "Uh, thanks." He said turning his attention back on the phone.

"It's real nice." The man continued on grabbing up a piece of Ric's platinum blonde hair in his dirty fingers, twirling it a bit.

Ric whipped around, putting a protective hand on the back of his head. "Well it only remains nice when people keep their grubby mitts off of it." He sneered a little.

"If I wash my hands can I touch it some more? You should be flattered there, little miss. I'm the one with the best pick-up truck in the whole damn bar. Cherry red and runs just fine. I'll let ya touch it, if ya want."

Ric's eyebrow twitched. His upper lip curled, preparing to fire off a nasty little response before the wheels in his head began to turn. The stringy man had a set of keys sticking out of his pocket, and from the sounds of it, an able bodied truck. "…I suppose you could touch my hair since you have such an impressive truck. But wash them really good. They're filthy and my hair is so nice because it's clean. It's gonna take you a bit, I know. You should let me watch your keys while you're doin' it."

"Oh! Well ain't you a doll." He smirked at Ric and dropped his keys into his awaiting hands.

"Yep! That's me. I'm a real doll alright." He gave a wave, slowly making his way over to Ricky and Roddy. "Pay for your drinks, and meet me outside. But do it casually." He murmured quietly before strolling out the door.

Ricky shoved his hand into his pocket, fishing out a ten dollar bill and slapping it down. "Come on Roddy, you heard him."

"But I like this stuff! It's rough, but… kinda endearing in a weird ass way." Roddy protested but set down his drink anyway. He slid off his bar stool, trotting off after Ricky. Once they both were outside, they instantly shielded their eyes from the sun. "God damn! That's bright!"

"Shut up and get into the truck, Roddy!" Ric growled at the both of them after throwing the last of their cases into the back. "Impressive truck my ass." He muttered to himself as he watched the rust rain down onto the dirt from Ric tossing the luggage in. He hopped into the front seat of the truck, turning the key into the ignition.

"Ric, where'd you get this truck?" Ricky made a face as he adjusted himself in the seat to avoid an annoying spring in the back of the seat.

"You really, really don't want to know. And I really, _really_ don't want to talk about it." Ric grumbled as the truck bounced and rolled out of the drive way. "We are never, _ever _driving down here again."

"Uh, considering you just committed grand theft pick-up truck I understand." Roddy went about kicking his feet up out of the window like he did before. "Well… it's not too bad of a ride."

"Don't get too comfy." Ric bounced slightly in the driver's side seat. "We're dropping this heap off at the nearest car lot and buying something with some fucking class!" Ric ran a hand through his hair, trying to see if he could feel any dirt from where that man had the gall to touch his prized platinum locks.

Ricky shifted uncomfortably again in the middle seat. He glanced at Roddy, giving him a knowing look. "You know, Ric, you do have nice hair."

"Yeah, little miss." Roddy chortled, holding on to his ribs as he erupted in deep fits of belly laughter.

Ric gave them a shocked look, before it slowly melted away to mild anger. "And ya didn't do a damn thing to come save my ass. Not that I couldn't have snapped him like a tooth pick but come on! No one hits on Ric Flair like that." He fumed flicking back his shoulder length tresses. He reached over to turn on the radio, hoping to get his mind off the situation. "I'm going to have to scrub my skin to get the stench of that place off me."

"Yeah, I hear ya there Naitch." Roddy snickered as the song _Uneasy Rider_ came on the radio. "Let's just cut through Omaha next time."

FIN.


	6. Death Death

(THIS IS A SLASH STORY. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SLASH PLEASE DO NOT READ)

Fic title: Death Death  
Song: Death Death by Voltaire  
Pairings: Beer Money Inc/JJ, Eric Bischoff/JJ  
Co-written with Simply-Cath  
Characters: Eric Bischoff, Jeff Jarrett, Beer Money Inc  
Mentions of: Abyss, Ric Flair  
Rated: M just to be on the safe side XD  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: This one follows right after the events of When You're Evil.  
Genre: General 

Special dedication: This one wouldn't exist without Catherine. She pretty much came up with 90% of the ideas for it, so this one's for you. It's also for Edge-Chan, Esha Napoleon, and Lavabubble. Thanks girls for your help with the songs, but I wound up using Voltaire. I will get your art to you soon. Special thanks also goes out to Seraphexiel for the Beer Money/JJ inspiration, and to Moussaka for your epic BMI love. 3

SIDE NOTE: This story is so silly. It just… it really was. But because of what I have to write outside of the fandom, it was so much fun to do something… so silly. I hope you all like it!

Jeff stared at his empty locker, where his ring gear should have been. All that greeted him was the cool metal of the locker. "What?" He muttered in confusion, sticking his head in the locker just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Sure enough, there was nothing. He gripped the metal door, slamming it hard. "What the hell?!"

"Oh Jeff! There you are." Eric smirked sticking his head into Jeff's change room. "I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. Your ring gear was destroyed earlier- someone decided to wash it with Hardy's stuff. Long story short, we owe you one. But- we have you covered!"

Jeff's upper lip twitched as he looked at the black bag hanging innocuously in Eric's hand. "You do huh?"

Eric twisted his face in a quick pout. "Why the long face, Jeff? You know I only want to help you. Why so cold?"

Jeff's fingers dug into the fleshy part of his palms as he gritted his teeth. "Because, Eric, in a matter of a few days, you've managed to try and extort me for a… a… you know what you were trying to extort!" He said poking Eric in the chest while trying hard to ignore the shit eating grin now gracing the other man's face. "And then ya donate my whole paycheck to a damn stripper-"

"Oh, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff. Her name's Charity, and the correct term is _lady of the night_. Try to be a little more politically correct, hmm?"

Jeff growled slightly, continuing on. "And then… then ya drug my wine so I couldn't have the steak I wanted, you lousy son of a bitch! So forgive me when I figure I shouldn't trust ya!"

Eric took in a long breath and let it all out with a loud sigh. "I suppose I haven't given you much reason to trust me have I? Well… it's either wear what's in the bag out to the ring, or go out there naked for all I care. …Not that naked would be a bad thing by any stretch of the imagination."

Jeff reached out and snagged the bag from Eric's hand. With as much dignity as he could muster, he pointed at the door to his change room.

"Alright, alright- I'll go." Eric chuckled and turned on his heels to leave. He shut the door behind him, lingering outside briefly. He rolled up his jacket sleeve checking his watch for the time. Five seconds later, Jeff's loud proclamation of the word "UGH!" made him smile even more. "Today is going to be a great day." He grinned rubbing his hands together gleefully as he made his way back to his office.

Jeff stormed down the hallway backstage, his lips pressed together so tightly they formed a thin, near invisible line. The black shorts he had on weren't the problem. The black calf length boots weren't the problem either. Even the short, barely there black vest was doable. However, the bow tie, the pointless collar and cuffs, the cotton ball tail, and the set of bunny ears so cutely perched on his head were just too much. He stopped in front of Eric's door, rage trickling down his spine as he brought up his leg. He kicked in the door, it slamming loudly against the wall. "Eric!" He roared motioning to himself. "What the hell is this?!"

Eric gave him a funny look. "Your ring gear, Jarrett. And don't you just look adorable like that! You need a serving tray and some cocktails- then you'd be all set."

"I am not goin' to the ring like this, Eric! Ya can't make me! And I'm not sure this is what Hogan meant by 'earnin' my spot' here in TNA."

Eric chuckled lightly. "Of course not. He's Hogan. He never sees the bigger picture of things like I do. Now Jeff, I really wanted you to wrestle tonight-"

"Of course you did." He muttered sourly.

"But I suppose I can let you be my Playboy bunny assistant backstage."

"How nice of you."

"I know, and I hear you don't like me- I can't imagine why that is." Eric pouted. "Well, I suppose I'll have to earn that like. Be a lamb and go take this file to Beer Money for me would you? Make sure they sign it, it's their new contract."

"Fine." Jeff grabbed the file out of Eric's hands, tucking it under his arm. He muttered soft curses along the way, trying to avoid everyone's eyes. When he came across the dressing room, he knocked hard on the door. "James! Bobby! Open up!" After minutes of grumbled curses and what could have only been the crash of beer bottles, the door swung open.

"Dub-J!" James slurred pushing down his sunglasses so that he could look at Jarrett better. "Why don't you look nice?"

"Shove it, James. I look like an ass." Jeff tossed the file to Robert. "This is for you, Eric Bischoff sent it over."

Robert put on a pair of glasses, opening the file up. "Hm." He ran a finger down the page, pausing briefly. "It's our new heel contract, James. Says here we're allowed one moment of indiscretion."

"A moment of indiscretion huh? Whasthat mean, Bobby?" James asked throwing an arm around Robert's shoulder so he was able to see the contract for himself.

"It means you can do one bad thing and get away with it." Jeff said crossing his arms across his chest. "Now, would ya just sign it so I can get back to the office? …This outfit's not exactly warm."

James patted himself down. "Well gee, Bobby. I don't have a pen."

"Me neither. Maybe Jarrett's got one."

"I don't know, Bobby. That outfit's pretty tight. I think we'd know if he had pen on him. Though we could always see for ourselves, he could be lying."

Jeff took a step back. "Whoa now boys, I don't have a pen. But I can go get you one- I'll be right back."

"Naw, that won't be necessary, dub-J." James reached out grabbing him by the arm. "Hey Bobby? Wanna use that one moment of indiscretion now?"

Robert patted James' back. "You know, this is why I love being your tag partner. We're always on the same page." He grabbed Jeff's other arm, helping James pull the struggling blonde man into their change room.

Eric glanced up at the clock. Jeff was gone for a good hour now. "Looks like Beer Money decided to use their moment of indiscretion." He snickered slightly and kicked his feet up on his desk. A few more minutes ticked on by before the door to his office finally opened up. There stood Jeff in a pair of over sized blue jeans and a sloppily buttoned up black western shirt. His blonde hair was completely mussed, sticking up in places where normally it hung so neatly. "Son of a bitch." He slowly hissed out and limped over to the desk. "You son of a bitch. You did that on purpose! Moment of indiscretion my ass!" He shouted pointing at Eric.

"How was I supposed to know that that's what they were going to use it on?" Eric asked sweetly smiling at him. "What happened to your outfit?"

"I don't want to talk about it, you… you… I don't know what you are anymore!" He slammed the file down on the desk. "I have vacation time coming. I'm going to take it." He said through gritted teeth. "And when I come on back here, you and I are gonna have one long talk about the BS you put me through."

"Vacation?" Eric frowned. "You can't take a vacation!"

"I sure can!" Jeff said hiking up the pants he'd had on up. "Damn James and his big thighs." He mumbled. "Effective immediately, I am on vacation." He grabbed the side of his jeans before they slid right on off, turned on his heels, and marched right out of the office.

Jeff opened the door to his dark house after a long day of relaxing at all of his favorite spots in town. He tossed the keys on the side table with a contented sigh. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." He hit the light switch looking down at his mail as he made his way into his living room. "Bills… bills… bills…" He muttered and tossed the pile of mail on the coffee table to go over later. He sat down on a big overstuffed chair, reaching for one of the books he kept nearby. He blinked at the cover of it. "Controversy Creates Cash. I didn't buy this." He growled and threw it down on the table. He glanced up at his walls, noticing the unmistakable change to the décor of his living room. Gracing every wall was the face of Eric Bischoff. Shaking slightly in shock he nearly fell out of his chair as he went over to touch the wall to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "W-wallpaper. Eric Bischoff wallpaper." He said as his jaw moved awkwardly around the words.

He staggered back into his book case, knocking one of the books down to the floor. It landed face up, Eric's smarmy face stared right back up at him. Frowning in confusion Jeff reached over to pick it up. "Another copy?" He blinked turning around to look at his book case. It was jam packed with copies of _Controversy Creates Cash._

Jeff grabbed a handful of his blonde hair, utter disbelief falling over his face. "I-I need water." He shook slightly as he went to the kitchen. He grabbed the door of his refrigerator, fishing out a bottle of water. He collapsed into his kitchen chair, hissing loudly at the pain shooting his through his body. "God damn James and Bobby." He muttered popping the bottle cap off the water bottle. He sucked down a good gulp of water before noticing the new wall paper in his kitchen. Eric's face graced his walls again; though this time he was holding up a scale, pointing at it with an 'I'm watching you' look on his face.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me." Jeff shoved himself away from the table and stood up. He forced himself to take a deep breath, walking through his house. Every room of the house had a new Bischoff themed wall paper; except for the bathroom which had a large mosaic tile portrait instead. Every book he owned was now a copy of _Controversy Creates Cash_. His hands trembled as he reached for the door of his bedroom. Taking in another deep breath, he swung open the door. "Of all the rooms I expected him to defile…" He turned around a few times, checking his walls. Not a single face of Eric Bischoff stared back at him. "Thank god."

Jeff began to undress, tossing James' shirt to the ground. He peeled off the stolen jeans, hoping on his bed to assess the damages to his body. He had a few bruises, and a hand print still slightly present on his ass. He grabbed a mirror, using it to examine his neck. "…God damn it James." He muttered tracing one of several hickeys on his neck and shoulders. With a sigh, he flopped back in his bed staring up at his ceiling. Staring right back at him was a painting of an equally naked Eric Bischoff. Jeff's eyebrow twitched wildly. He grabbed the sheets he was laying on and wrapped them around his body. Down on the floor, his cell phone began to ring. He blinked in confusion as instead of his usual ring tone of his entrance music, it came out as 'Eric's bitch! Eric's bitch!' over and over again until Jeff answered it.

"Hey, dub-J!"

Eric's cheerful voice made him nearly crush the phone in his hand. "Eric… I know you're obviously around here somewhere- and that somehow you managed to find out where I live and get a key to my house. So let's not dance around the bush; where the fuck are ya?!"

"I'm actually right across the street! I waved to you when you got home, but you didn't see me."

Jeff threw his phone across the room. He repeated various forms of 'son of a bitch' while he wrapped his bed sheets tight around him. He stormed out into the living room, throwing open the door. Sure enough, there was Eric. He grabbed up a nearby copy of _Controversy Creates Cash_, and threw it right in his smirking face.

"Oh, now that just wasn't nice." Eric winced rubbing his sore face. "And after I made your house a far better place to live."

Jeff nearly tore the sheets covering his body. "You're payin' for the damage you did to my house or I swear Eric- it won't be pretty. And ya know what? No one would _ever_ convict me."

"I anticipated this." Eric rolled his eyes and pulled out a manila folder. "So I already wrote up a damage report. I just need you to sign it, and I'll give you the money to reimburse you."

"You mean that?" Jeff relaxed a little. He took the pen offered to him, signing the bottom line of the paper without having read it. "Now give me my damn money."

Eric chuckled a little bit, looking down at Jeff's signature. "Oh Jeff." He reached out to stroke the blonde man's cheek. "You really need to learn to read things before you sign them. You've just signed your house away to Goodwill."

Jeff smacked his hand away. "B-but m-my house- you… Good will? But why would Good Will want my house? "

Eric grinned and beckoned to someone standing across the street to join him. Charity smiled to Jeff, accepting the file from Eric. "Charity Goodwill does."

"…Well, your parents named you inappropriately, missy." He growled at her and then turned to look at Eric. "How could you, how could you do this to me? Why are you torturing me?"

"I thought we went over this already, Jeff." Eric slid his arm around Jeff's bare shoulders. "Come on, dub-J, you're standing on private property." He smirked a little escorting Jeff down the sidewalk. The blonde didn't fight him as realization set in.

"It's because you like me." He muttered darkly.

"Exactly." He patted Jeff's shoulder. "And because I like you, I'm going to offer you a deal. Either you can move in with Abyss and live daily with the sound track of Hogan's old entrance songs constantly playing, or you could move in with me into my nice, roomy mansion- where all of your stuff conveniently is." Before Jeff could answer, Eric's phone rang. The ring tone, much like Jeff's new one, was two words repeated over and over.

"Eric rules?" Jeff asked raising an eyebrow.

"Duh, it's because I do. Hello?"

Jeff pulled the sheets up around him, feeling the night air chill in the air creep around him. He didn't bother paying attention to Eric's conversation, as he concentrated on the choice facing him. Abyss was Abyss, but at least he was a decent human being. Once Eric was done on the phone, he looked over at him. "I've made my choice-"

"That's cool." Eric said while pocketing his cell phone. "But I've got some bad news. It turns out Ric Flair burned down Abyss's house. Drove a Cadillac into the living room, and proceeded to set it on fire. Oh you TNA boys and your rowdiness." He chuckled putting an arm around Jeff's waist. "But look on the bright side! We're roomies now!" He looked at the mortified look on Jeff's face, letting his hand drift a little lower, squeezing the blonde man's ass. "It'll be great!"

"I… I hate you." Jeff hissed pushing him away. "Eric I swear to god, one of these days I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you back for all the things you've done to me that I don't deserve-"

Not fazed by Jeff's words, Eric reached into his coat pocket to pull out a packet of gum. "You want?" He offered him a stick.

Without a word, Jeff snatched up the offered gum and popped the stick in his mouth. After a few minutes of chewing, he felt unbelievably tired. "You drugged the gum, didn't you…?" He yawned loudly.

Eric smiled at him fondly. "You know me so well." He caught Jeff as he toppled over, throwing the unconscious blonde over his shoulder before making his way down to his limousine.

FIN


	7. Honky Tonk Badonkadonk

(THIS IS A SLASH STORY. _SEX HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER_. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SLASH PLEASE DO NOT READ)

Fic title: Honky Tonk Badonkadonk  
Song: Honky Tonk Badonkadonk by Trace Adkins  
Pairings: JJ/James Storm, some mentions of Robert/James, and Eric Bischoff/JJ  
Characters: Jeff Jarrett, James Storm, Robert Roode  
Mentions of: RVD, Jeff Hardy, Eric Bischoff, Ric Flair, AJ Styles, Desmond Wolfe, Tara  
Rated: M FOR SEX, LIGHT BONDAGE, AND VOYERISM  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: James has an itch he needs to scratch.  
Genre: General

SPECIAL DEDICATIONS: This is for whoever requested James/JJ for the Spring Prompt Challenge #58. The person requested James/JJ with Bobby watching. I want my bonus points! XD

This is ALSO for Seraphalexiel, considering I wouldn't have a James muse without her James muse.

And for Erin Moussaka as well, for her Beer Money Inc love- her art is so inspiring and wonderful, you should all go check it out!

James sucked down the last bit of the beer, tipping it up to make sure every last drop was sent on home. He stared up ahead at the remaining members of team Hogan; the blonde member in particular. JJ had his back turned to him, unintentionally showing off what James wanted so badly in a pair of tight fitting, ripped to hell jeans. JJ leaned over a bit, the torn jeans sliding up just enough to give James a bit of a show as the white strings of some of the more ripped areas dug slightly into the rounded flesh of his ass. "Daaaaaamn." He groaned grabbing another bottle of beer.

Bobby came up behind James and the crate he was sitting on, throwing an arm around him. "What's going on James?"

"Just toastin' to a fine piece a art." James reached down to grab up another bottle of beer. He popped the top of it off by slamming the bottle cap on the crate. He raised the bottle in the direction of JJ's ass in a sort of sloppy toast, bringing the cold opening to his lips to drink from.

"JJ's ass?" Robert blinked. "Well I guess it's real nice, but you can't be thinking of that ass during our match tonight. Flair'll have our heads. I won't have this opportunity pass us up, James. This is the best thing that's happened to us yet!"

"I ain't gonna screw it up, Bobby! Just let me admire it a little bit longer."

"Fine, fine." Robert rolled his eyes. He leaned against the crate, watching what James had his eyes on. Reaching down to grab a beer, he popped it open joining James fully in his drinking and leering. "Yeah, that's a nice ass."

"Hey hey hey! You don't get to stare. Only I get to stare. And gimmie back my beer." James snatched his beer back.

"Damnit, James! It's a free country. I can stare at dub-J's ass if I want to."

"No ya can't, Bobby. That ass belongs to me. Mine might belong to you, but JJ's is all mine."

Robert snickered at the very determined look on his companion's face. "And what's dub-J say about that?"

"Oh, he don't know about it yet. I'm waitin' for the right time to claim my prize. Paris wasn't built in a day." He shrugged and took another slow drink of his beer. "Now would ya shut yer mouth? I'm trying to strategize." He said bringing his hands up to make a viewfinder with his hands, using it to scope his vision solely on what he so desperately wanted.

"James, that's Rome." Robert shook his head with a loud groan. "And uh, good luck with that."

"Dude, really?" RVD said motioning to JJ's jeans.

"I didn't realize I was all out of clothes. These were the only things I had that were clean. I really gotta get myself on a laundry schedule." JJ sighed looking down at his beat to hell holey jeans. "I don't think anyone'll mind."

Rob snickered. "Nah, dude- no one minds."

"I don't blame you for forgetting about your own laundry- I'm sure you're doing all of Bischoff's." Jeff grinned leaning in to elbow him in the side. "Did he get you a little apron and a feather duster, or haven't you gotten the promotion to French maid yet?"

JJ's cheeks flushed a dark red. "Knock it off, Hardy. Ya know that's not funny."

"Nah, you're right. It's really not. It's pretty freaken' hilarious." Jeff shrugged a shoulder. "But as for your jeans, they're fine. Damn fine." He brought back his hand and smacked the older man on the ass. "You can give all of us younger guys a serious run for our money with that a- hey!" The beer bottle hit him square in the arm, thrown with the incredible accuracy of an irate James Storm.

"Hardy, you ain't allowed to touch that so don't get any damn ideas!" James said as he marched right up to the group.

JJ pushed James in the side. "James, what the hell-"

"No dub-J, this doesn't concern all of you. Just one part of you, and it's a part I don't want rainbow boy gettin' all interested in." James shoved Jeff in the chest. "You stay away from Jarrett- he's mine."

Jeff scowled at the bigger man in front of him and pushed him back. "Well maybe I want to get all interested in Jarrett. Whose gonna stop me- you? You're just a big drunken idiot. I can beat the shit out of you before you even notice what's goin' on."

JJ stepped between the two men, a mildly bewildered look on his face. "Whoooa now, I don't know what the hell's gotten into you James, but the last time I checked, I didn't belong to you."

"No." Rob piped up and put an arm around James. "He belongs to Eric."

"Shut up Rob!" JJ's voice sounded oddly shrill as he pushed away from all three men. "Forget this, I'm outta here." He gathered what was left of his dignity, un tucked his shirt from his pants in an effort to conceal his posterior from prying eyes, and stormed off down the hallway.

"Damn it!" James snatched up his hat and threw it down to the ground in frustration. He turned to look at Jeff, scowling hard at him from behind his sunglasses. He shoved the smaller man hard, sending him back into the crates and equipment. Satisfied with himself, he straightened the collar of his shirt to head back on over to Robert. "Real nice back up there, Bobby. What the hell is your worth?"

"You seemed to have more than a handle on things. Come on, get your head in the game- we gotta meet up with everyone in the locker room. We'll catch hell if we're late."

Robert watched as Ric cut them all a new one. He looked to James who looked a decent twenty miles away in thought, what with the way he stared right past Flair and through the open door where JJ stood in the hallway talking with Tara. Flair scowled at James, grabbing the younger man by the face.

"What the hell's the matter with you, boy?! Can't you give me the respect I fuckin' deserve by lookin' at me when I talk to you?!" He said smacking James on the back of his head before moving around to the front of him to shake him by the shoulders. "Pay attention!"

"Ya make a better door than you do a window, old man. Now would ya mind gettin' outta my fuckin' view?"

Ric stared at James with an unholy white rage present on his face. "What did you just-"

"I said get!" James shoved Ric to the side. AJ glanced up from his water bottle, and Desmond Wolfe jumped out of his seat. "Dammit all if no one listens 'round here."

"Hang on now!" Robert quickly went over to James, standing behind his chair. He clasped his hands on the other man's shoulders. "Calm down, all of you- there's a reason for his behavior." He motioned toward JJ out in the hallway. "It's that right there."

Ric turned his head slowly to see what Robert was pointing at. "Tara?"

Robert smacked his forehead. "No! JJ! He's been mooning over him all day. Maybe… in all of your infinite wisdom of scoring even the trickiest ass, you can give him a hand Ric. Please at least think it over before you get too mad."

"JJ?" Ric looked at the blonde man out in the hallway and then to James who was nearly licking the air. "I can understand gettin' all worked up about ass but I'm not seeing the big deal about Jeff Jarrett."

"Are you fuckin' blind old man?! How can you not appreciate the greatness that is that ass- so round and tight in those jeans- and later in those fuckin' cock tease shorts. I just wanna slide my hand right up the leg of those tight-"

"You get the point, don't ya Ric?" Robert said quickly.

Ric's hard faced expression remained unchanged. "No. I'm a leg man. But I get that he's the distraction- and it's gotta be removed." Ric walked out into the hallway, interrupting JJ's conversation with Tara. "S'cuse me, Tara, but do you mind taking the spider someplace else? I have some business to tend to- buh-bye, honey!"

"Well that was pretty damn rude, Ric. No wonder you have so many ex-wives." JJ gave him an amused smirk.

Ric put a hand over his heart, faking a chest pain. "Oh, owch. A reminder of why I still have to work- nice burn, dub-J. How's the whole Eric's bitch thing going?" Ric smirked at the scowl on JJ's face, continuing on. "Look, you're bein' a distraction. I need you to get on outta here so I can rally the troops against your friends. Which, by the way, we're going to kick the livin' shit out of, so you might want to bust out some get well cards ahead of time. So if you don't mind, I'm declaring this part of the hallway a no double J zone."

JJ blinked at him. "You want me to leave because I'm a distraction? In the company that I founded, I'm considered a distraction?"

Flair sighed. "You don't seem to understand me, or are makin' any attempt to comply with my request so let me explain it a different way. Please remember you've brought this on yourself with your stubbornness."

"Well now hold o-" JJ didn't get a chance to finish having been grabbed by Ric, spun toward the wall, and bent over.

From inside the room, James couldn't help but voice his opinions on the lush ass presented to him. "Whooo hooo! Damn JJ boy! That is a fuckin' finnnne ass I am gonna plow into oblivion the next time I get a chance- Dang, I can even see some cheek action!"

James and his comments made JJ's face heat up like a pan on a stove. He broke away from Ric, shoving him hard in the chest. "Fuck you, Flair!" He stammered as his hands flew up to fix his mussed blonde hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Now get!" Flair said and shoved JJ away from the door.

James ranted loudly as he went down the hallway after the match. Despite Ric getting rid of JJ for the moment, the image of the sexy blonde haunted James mercilessly. Images of the older man's taut body laying breathless beneath him with his blonde hair a mess, his legs forced apart showing James all he had to offer with a shamed flush on his face was burned into his mind. He absently rubbed the scruff on his face. JJ didn't strike him as the kind to give into his own desire unless it revolved around chasing gold; getting what he wanted was going to be so much harder then. The imaged of a flushed dub-J with his legs splayed out was too much, and it resulted in him nearly losing the match for Team Flair that night on Impact. He propped his arm up on the wall, gritting his teeth in annoyance. He heard the characteristic sounds of Bobby's footfalls behind him, and looked over his shoulder. "Bobby don't you even say one damn word, I know. I know I fucked it up." He said with a scowl.

"James, you have to do something about this. Go find him, fuck the daylights out of him- do whatever- I don't care." He reached over and tangled his fingers into James' hair. "But you have to do it soon, James. Flair's pissed. So are Desmond and AJ-"

"I won't fuck this up, Bobby. Don't you worry. I'm gonna scratch this itch." He felt Robert come closer to him, enough to sniff at his hair. "Would ya knock that off!" He growled and turned around swatting at Robert's face. "You don't get satisfied till I get satisfied and that's how it goes 'round here!"

Robert frowned staring at James with annoyance. "Well maybe I'll go fuck your itch instead."

"No you don't! The founder is _mine_." James whipped off his sunglasses, looking at Robert with a pair of wild blue eyes. "I've been dreamin' about this day since I trained with him and his dad I just had to bide my time. He just doesn't know that he belongs to me yet, though that will be very clear to him in a moments time. I just gotta figure out where the hell he is."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Maybe then you want to give me some satisfaction- I know where he is, after all."

"I could just figure it out on my own, ya know."

"But you won't; you get too impatient when you're hooked on something."

James stared at Robert, Robert stared back at him. James' upper lip sneered. "Fuck you. What do ya want, Bobby?"

Robert tapped the side of his chin in thought. "A blow job. But not your usual sloppy mess of a blow job- a good one."

"Fine, fine." James stopped Christy on her way back from doing an interview, stealing her post it notes and a pen. He scrawled _I owe you one BJ_ and stuck it right in the middle of Robert's forehead. "Now where is he?"

Robert motioned with his thumb over his shoulder. "In the arena, cleaning up. Another Bischoff task, I recon- mind if I watch?"

"Naw, you can watch. I don't care. Just don't get jealous or some shit, because I'll beat your damn ass in with a rock, Bobby."

JJ, broom in hand, was busy at work sweeping out whatever debris was littered around the ring. He had his mp3 player on full volume, just in case Eric wanted to get a hold of him one more time with yet another pointless task. At least this was simple enough. He was alone with only the ring and a few cameras for company. He didn't notice that one of them was still on; taping what little action there was going on in the arena.

JJ paused briefly to switch songs, nodding his head along with it as he began to sweep some more. He swung his hips from side to side, singing out loud as he worked. "Poor ole boy, it ain't his fault-It's so hard not to stare! At that honky tooooooooooooonk badonkadoooooonk…"

He was unaware that he had an audience behind him of a showered up and clean Beer Money Inc. Robert kept toward the back to not be seen as James made his way to get his prize. A little smirk worked his way onto his face as he watched Jarrett sing, shimmy, shake, and sweep blissfully unaware of the irony of him singing that particular song. He pushed his sunglasses up in order to better watch JJ's ass in those torn jeans. He was disappointed to see what looked like underwear staring back at him, but it couldn't be helped. After he had enough watching he reached out to snag one of the frayed belt loops of Jarrett's jeans to get his attention. "Surprise, Dub-J… You're all mine!"

JJ was surprised alright. He whirled around and smacking James in the face and head with his broom several times.

"JJ! Dub-J! JEFF! Stop!" James brought up his hands to block the blows, grabbing the handle of the broom before more damage could be done. He broke it over his leg and threw the pieces away, picking straw out of his long hair. "What the hell!"

"That's what ya get for sneakin' up on somebody!" JJ yanked his ear buds out, putting them and his mp3 player on the edge of the ring. "I'll have you know that was my good broom, ya owe me five dollars."

James looked down at JJ's outstretched palm and the serious expression on the man's face. "I ain't payin' for your damn broom!" He knocked JJ's hand away. "I'm gonna give you somethin' better than five dollars and a fuckin' broom."

"And what's that- sex? Well, ya can keep it James Storm. I'm not interested in rolling around with the likes of you." JJ crossed his arms across his chest. "Sorry about your damn fuck."

James scowled deeply, counting back from ten in his head. Slowly, he smirked. "It's because I ain't Bischoff isn't it? Do you only bend over for him while he takes you for a ride over that big desk of his?" He watched with a satisfied smirk as JJ's face heated up.

"I..I don't-"

"Then prove it. Get your hot ass in the ring and roll around in the ring for awhile."

JJ scowled. "I don't see how that'd do anything but let you fuck me. No thanks, James." He turned back around and went to leave only to find James' hand grabbing at his belt loops again. The two men struggled, the old material of JJ's jeans finally giving in. There was a loud ripping noise as James ended up with one half of JJ's jeans in his clenched hand. JJ stared back at him, his jaw hanging in shock.

"Whoops." James smirked and tossed the jeans aside. "Mmmm, JJ- look at them legs of yours. I think I might join Ric and become a part time leg man. Especially with the way you look right now with that shirt of yours hangin' down coverin' whatever you have on underneath." He licked his lips slowly advancing on the smaller man.

Once James was close enough, JJ leapt on him, locking his strong legs around his waist. He rained blows down on James in a frustrated rage. "I am not a whore! I'm sick of this shit!"

James grabbed on to JJ's legs, but instead of pushing him off he rammed the other man into the ring post. He heard Jarrett's surprised shout of pain, and did it again- repeating the motion over and over until blows to his head and face stopped. Exhausted and sore, James kept JJ pinned up against the post, his face buried in Jarrett's western style shirt.

JJ's hands were tangled in James hair as pain exploded in front of his vision. He heard James panting hard, the hot breath tickling his stomach through the thin material of his shirt. He felt lips pressing against his chest and James' fingers tearing open the front of his shirt, causing the buttons to go flying off. "Ass. That was my favorite shirt-"

"I know; I owe ya another five dollars." James chuckled letting his lips roam over JJ's smooth skin. He loved the way the older man mewled out, trying so hard to not make any noise at all. "What's the matter, dub-J? Don't want me to know you like it? Well… too late for that." He shoved his hand between their bodies, stroking JJ's hardening erection through the thin material of his tight black boxer briefs. "You like bein' dominated like this, don't you?"

JJ didn't answer him. He bit down on his bottom lip, his cheeks flushing nicely. Taking that as a yes, James grabbed JJ by his thighs, shoving him under the bottom ring rope and into the ring. He followed suit, standing up while Jarrett remained on his back on the mat. He took a moment of time to appraise the older man wearing nothing but his shirt around his arms, his boxer briefs, and a pair of beat up old cowboy boots. Despite the pain flashing across his face, JJ looked at good as he always hoped for. "Now how do I want to dominate the great double-J?" He paused to run the pointed toe of his own cowboy boots down Jarrett's bare thigh, watching him shudder slightly. "It sure is a pretty sight to see you on your back like this, but I think I want that honky tonk badonkadonk raised up in the air so I can see it properly."

Jarrett kicked him hard in the shin, bringing James to the mat. He got up as fast as he could, knocking the younger man over as the two began to struggle. During the course of which, JJ lost his shirt and nearly his last form of protection. James had the upper hand due to the blows he gave JJ earlier, eventually working the other man face down on the mat. He grabbed JJ's wrists in one hand while he reached over to grab the discarded MP3 player. Whistling slightly, he bound Jarrett's wrists with the thin cords. "Now ain't you a pretty picture all tied up like that? I can't tell you how much I've been waiting for this, dub-J. I've been dying to have a taste of this ass since the day I met you." He got behind JJ, rocking his jean covered crotch against the rounded curve of his ass. JJ wiggled against him, trying to turn himself over to get away. James' hands kept his hips in place. "There ain't no escape for you dub-J. Not that you want to anyway." He slid his hand back under Jarrett, stroking him firmly. "Damn me, that's one nice hard cock I feel. I'm gonna enjoy this."

"James… James, wait! Can't we talk about this?!" He stammered watching over his shoulder as James stripped him of his last piece of useful clothing. He shivered slightly at the chilly air caressing his naked body. He shut his eyes, resting his cheek against the mat while he waited for what he assumed was coming next. He heard the sound of James' fly being opened followed by the sound of him spitting, then felt the thick wetness pressing its way inside of him. JJ looked behind him at the still fully clothed James, and it made his shoulders slump in defeat. He had no power in this situation.

"Talkin' isn't action, JJ." He grabbed Jarrett's hips and slid his way inside. Deciding it would only be fair to give JJ a moment to adjust, he flicked on his MP3 player to search for an appropriate song. "Ahh, here we go. You were listenin' to this when I came in." He put the player on full volume and rested it on JJ's back.

JJ squirmed a little, his face a dark red as James finally decided to move inside of him. He bit back a moan, clenching his eyes shut. He heard the vocals of Trace Adkins, the pants of James, and the moans of someone else? He snapped up immediately, trying to twist to see what was going on when he spied Bobby at the top of the stage, stroking himself mercilessly. "Ya brought Bobby." He said flatly.

"Bobby goes everywhere I go because he's a freaken' puppy dog." James grunted and shifted his speed so that he was pounding the hell out of Jarrett's hot passage. "You're in no position to complain, dub-J. You turned him on too, with that honky tonk badonkadonk." He leaned over to lick the rim of Jeff's ear, continuing on in song. "Keepin' perfect rhythm make ya wanna swing along…" He couldn't help but snicker at JJ's groan, but the time for games and jokes was over. It was high time he proved to Jarrett why he belonged to him and him alone. He moved a different way inside of the older man, and his whole attitude changed. JJ howled out sharply, his body quaking.

"Hell James! Do that again!" He pleaded rolling his hips back desperately into the other man.

"That's it, JJ. That's exactly what I want to hear. Moan for me." James growled thrusting hard into Jarrett in the same place that made him nearly turn to goo. JJ continued to reward him, Bobby, and the camera with his pleading for more. James reached under JJ's shaking torso to stroke his weeping erection. "Come on, baby- you know what I want to see." He looked up to Robert, motioning for him to come down and join them.

JJ heard the sound of Robert getting down on the mat with them. He looked up just in time to get a face full of Robert's release. "Damn it Bobby! I'll get you for that!" He shouted enraged. A hard thrust from James behind him sent him over the edge, making him release all over his hand. He felt James pull out of him, his seed splashing up against JJ's thighs and ass.

"You're all mine, JJ. I branded you." He leaned over the shaking mess of a man. "And don't you forget that."

Eric sighed as he watched the tape for the six time. "Damn it James- you should know better than to mess with my bitch. You're so lucky it resulted in this tape." He mused to himself and ejected it out of the player. He left a camera on to capture JJ working in his torn up jeans, but caught something more. He hit the intercom button, paging his secretary. "Do you mind getting Jarrett in here? I think I have something he might want to see. …Call it an insurance policy." Lacing his hands behind his head, he kicked his feet up on to the desk. "It's good to be Eric Bischoff."

FIN

Author's notes: So, I noticed on the poll that EB/JJ are ahead of everyone else. There WILL be another EB/JJ story, but because I write them with Simply-Cath when we get together, it will be a bit before it gets written. I will def. write one of the three that are in the lead as my next story, unless people start voting more. THE POLL IS ON MY AUTHOR PROFILE PAGE FOR IF YOU WANT TO SEE SOMETHING GO VOTE DAMNIT.

-Also, I don't know who this was for, but I hope whoever you are you enjoyed this. I sure had fun! TNA slash is fun! 3

-I'm sorry about the JJ fics as of late, I normally don't focus on one person like this, at least I'm trying hard not to and write different pairings but…JJ needs moar love. HE WONT GET OUT OF MY HEAD D:


	8. Turn The Page

(THIS IS A STORY WITH SLASH AND HET PLEASE READ THE SUMMARIES CAREFULLY)

Fic title: Turn the Page  
Song: Turn the Page by Bob Seger  
Pairings:

STORY 1: ERIC BISCHOFF/JEFF JARRETT (SLIGHT SLASH)

STORY 2: RIC FLAIR, RODDY PIPER, RICKY STEAMBOAT (VERY SLIGHT SLASH)

STORY 3: JOHN MORRISON/MELINA (HET)

STORY 4: BRET HART/KEVIN NASH (SLASH)

Rated: T just to be on the safe side XD  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Based on one of my favorite songs of all time- split into four sections and four different pairings.  
Genre: General

STORY 2: Is for the almighty Erin Moussaka and our trade. We fixed our fixes! 3 I hope you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing it. Expect more of these three soon ;)

STORY 3: Part of two birthday gifts for my lovely lady Edge-Chan- who I've known for a bajillion years- Happy belated birthday, bebe! 

2010: Some place east of Omaha

JJ kept his body pressed against the extreme end of the limo, his hand clenched around the door handle. He kept his eyes focused on the empty seat in front of them, rather than on the older man sitting beside him. They had been driving for ages now, and even though it was in a limousine it was still uncomfortable. With no music to listen to other than the slow and distant hum of the engine, it made the limo that much smaller. Eric had his papers strewn all over the floor and on the seat space separating them. Every now and then, JJ's blue eyes drifted down to one of them, knowing exactly what Eric was working on.

"I don't know how you ever thought you could do this, Jeffry." Eric clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "And I don't know why who ever took over for you thought they could do this either, because these numbers are all screwy." He growled softly. "Don't you people know how to do anything?"

JJ winced at the use of his full name, not bothering to dignify Eric's question with a response.

"No wonder why your little Podunk operation at the Asylum didn't last- not like you care about what good I'm doing for the company you somehow managed to create."

JJ's fingers dug into the leg of his jeans. "Eric… don't you dare try to insult what I've managed to create. You wouldn't have a job without me, so shut your big trap before you start swallowin' flies."

"Awww, did I hurt my bitch's feelings?" He smirked reaching out to put his hand in JJ's soft blonde hair. The younger man smacked it away, and gave him a warning look. "Come on, Jeffry! I could use a little distraction here. This is your new job now. You entertain me. And while those cute pouts and the suffering face are nice, I could use a little something more." He brought up his hand again, sliding it down JJ's face, brushing the pad of his thumb across his thin bottom lip. JJ opened his mouth, letting Eric slide his thumb inside. He lavished the appendage with licks and sucks until biting down hard on it.

Eric yelped and withdrew his hand, shaking it out. "Yeowch! You're pretty damn feisty aren't you?"

JJ only snorted and went to looking out the window as the limo continued to roll down the highway toward the next house show- it wasn't like Eric was going to do any participating, so he didn't exactly see the point of him insisting on coming. Eric kept his eyes on his paper work, occasionally shaking his hand out from JJ's bite.

After about an hour had passed, JJ let his eyes drift over to see what Eric was up to. The older man had head slumped down, the papers leaving a slow, spilling trail down onto the floor from his ledger book. His calculator was resting underneath his hand. JJ blinked in surprise, letting his mind take him back to the asylum days where many a night he'd wake up with a shot in his office, only to find himself not in bed but with bills stuck to his face and the smell of an old cup of coffee wafting over from the edge of his desk. He shook the thought from his mind, frowning softly at Eric.

He fell asleep working hard at trying to keep what Jeff created and loved so dearly alive. Reaching over he took the papers from Eric's lap and down by his feet, stacking them to put back inside of his ledger. He put that and the calculator on top of it on the floor of the limo, and took Eric's hat off of his head. JJ slid closer to him, removing the older man's jacket to drape over his body like a blanket.

Satisfied for his good deed he slid back over to his end, resting his head on the door to catch some sleep. Moments later, Eric tumbled over in his sleep, his head landing against JJ's thigh. Eric's arms instantly wrapped around his leg like a pillow, rousing JJ from his sleep. He glanced down, his anger quickly boiling up to the surface. He waved his fingers in front of Eric's face, his face softening when he saw Eric was legitimately asleep. He sighed, figuring on if Eric needed the sleep that badly, he didn't want to wake him. JJ let his head rest up against the door like earlier, totally missing the devious smirk on Eric's face.

1974: A truck stop on a lone stretch of highway

Ric, Roddy, and Ricky staggered on into Piston Place diner, looking haggard from the road. Ricky rubbed at the aching cramp in his neck, while Roddy stretched in an attempt to get rid of a kink in his back. He looked over to Ric who looked so wired and exhausted at the same time, Roddy wasn't sure whether or not to get him a cup of coffee or a pillow.

The three men trudged tiredly across the checker board floor, shaking off the cold. Ricky glanced around at the disapproving expressions etched on the faces of truckers and farmers alike. He frowned, wondering if it was him who was causing the problem, Ric and his flamboyance, or all three of them for having long hair and bell bottoms. He wanted to glare back at them but he couldn't find the energy to even make a scowl. He joined Ric and Roddy in the uncomfortable plastic booth.

Roddy's head bobbed slowly, his eyes looking heavy and weak. Ric played nervously with his spoon, glancing around the room in acknowledgement of the stares he felt. "I wonder what they're whisperin'."

"Probably the same ole shit." Roddy gave a tremendous yawn. "Ya know, arguin' about whether or not Ric's a woman, and where the hell Ricky is from."

Ric bent the spoon in his hand. "Man, I'm sick of this shit. If I were a woman, I'd be one ugly chick. Ricky's obviously half Japanese. I don't know why we're so fuckin' interesting."

"Not too many people see a platinum blonde haired man in a paisley silk shirt, tight ass bell bottoms and butterfly platform shoes walk in with a guy like me and one like Ricky in Backwater, USA. Ya can't expect them not to stare as fucking frustrating as it is. I can see a check out glance, but the stares that go on for minutes…" Roddy trailed off scowling at the table of truckers next to them. "Take a fucking picture, it'll last longer and it won't result to kickin' your asses. …Man, if these idiots don't stop starin', we're gonna have to wipe the floor with im', Ric!"

Ric's bleary blue eyes stared on ahead, boring holes into the empty seat beside Ricky. "No." He said shaking his head slowly. "I'm sick of this shit. No matter how many morons we beat up in Backwater, USA it won't ever change anything." He slammed the spoon down on the table and stood up in the booth. "Ya wanna look? Go ahead. Take a goooood looooong look, ya bunch of fuckin' chumps. What makes me so different from you? Is it the hair?" Ric snarled and flipped his hair up. "Is it it's length or the fuckin' color? Or maybe it's my clothes- I doubt even if you mortgaged your trailers you wouldn't come close to being able to afford my shirt, let alone my pinky ring. …Or maybe it's the way I talk. Or maybe ya'll think I'm a fuckin' poof. Well, this poof has something to tell you." He sucked in a breath, puffing out his chest. "This is the closest to greatness any of ya lowly worms will ever get a chance to see. So take a good long look at me as I go by- maybe you can tell your grandchumps about the day you saw a wrestling god." Ric hopped down from the booth, fixing the color of his shirt. He gave everyone in the diner a smug look before strolling out of the restaurant. Once outside, the cold air hit him like a bullet. He zipped up the bomber jacket, walking over to his beat up caddy. Ric climbed up on the trunk, tucking his feet up on the bumper. He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out of his nose slowly as his eyes began to well up with unwanted tears of frustration and exhaustion. He rubbed at them fiercely, stopping them from falling all together.

He heard the sounds of footfall on gravel, but barely made a move to turn his head. Ricky stood beside Ric, holding something wrapped in tinfoil in his hand. Roddy got on Ric's other side, patting his leg slightly as Ricky began to speak.

"I've been reading Tolkien's work, as you know from the thick books I have classing up the back seat of your caddy. And there's a quote I wrote down to look at after times like these. I don't want you to open that big yap of yours until I've finished reading it off to you." He put the plate wrapped in silver down on the trunk beside Ric's thigh, as he pulled out a folded up piece of paper. "I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something." He folded the piece of paper back up and shoved it into his coat pocket.

Roddy looked thoughtful as Ricky spoke, letting the words sink fully into his head. "Ricky's little quote there is true; one day we'll all be accepted for who we are not what we are. Who cares what those idiots are whispering inside there- they're morons. They're afraid. They're in the dark. They don't know how to face the world like you can, they'd rather sink inside someone else's opinion rather than try to understand stuff that's outside of what they know. "

Ric rubbed his temples slowly. "Then why- why the hell do we keep doing this when we know we'll never be accepted by everyone else?"

"Ric, do you remember that little kid we met at the record store back in Makin?"

"Yeah, Ricky I do. He waited for three hours just to see us. And when he saw me, he wooed so hard I thought he was gonna pass right out." Ric chuckled slightly.

"That's why we do what we do. We're making a trail for people who want to be different but never had anyone to look up to. One day when we're old and gray we'll be watching young kids like us take to the ring and blow everyone away. It won't be these bland old big guys, it'll be a real mix. And that's why we gotta do the things we do- we can't turn back now."

Ric remained quiet for a long while. He glanced between Ricky and Roddy, finally nodding. "You're right. Ricky, you can be incredibly wise when you want to be."

"I'm wise all the time; you just refuse to listen to me most of the time. Gimmie your keys- I'll get us to some place to sleep."

"Besides- ya gotta eat the piece of pie I bought ya." Roddy grabbed the plate and handed it to Ric. "It's your fav."

Ric slid off the trunk of his car, tossing his keys to Ricky. "Chocolate mousse?" He peered under the foil. "I'm surprised they let you buy it. I'm also surprised ya know what kind I like." He snickered and slid into the back seat, picking up the fork that was on the plate.

Roddy got in the passenger's side, glancing back to Ric. "When ya get smashed ya talk a lot about pie. Both kinds of pie- and my legs. You're a complicated man, Ric." Roddy snickered . "But I wouldn't have it any other way, ya know."

"As much as you drive me crazy, Roddy has a point. Sad Ric is something I never want to see again." Ricky looked up at Ric in the rearview mirror and couldn't help but smile at the sight of the blonde happily munching away at the piece of pie. Ric looked up in time to catch Ricky's brown eyes in the mirror. They two men stared at each other for a moment before Ricky finally broke away with a blush on his face. He pulled the car out of the parking lot, speeding down the dark highway.

Ric moaned around the fork, savoring the taste before speaking again. "I'm surprised they sold you this pie after my little diatribe."

Roddy coughed into his fist. "Yeah… sold."

"Roddy…" Ric began and peered over Ricky's shoulder to look at the speedometer. "Is there any particular reason why Ricky, who normally drives sensibly, is going in excess of a hundred miles an hour?"

Roddy's grin grew. "Ricky's a closet lead foot?"

Silence over took the car for a brief moment as it rocketed down the highway. Ric glanced out the back window at the diner as it became a tiny dot on the flat landscape. Ricky was the first to break it, with snickers that turned into full force laughter as Ric and Roddy joined in.

2010: Backstage

Melina watched the monitor. John- or rather Johnny, at least to her- was in the middle of a heated match with Drew Mcintyre. She knew how upset he was at having to drop the belt to Drew. Drew didn't understand the legacy, the importance of the belt in the way that Johnny did. Johnny was damn right, guys like Drew and Sheamus didn't deserve the chance to hold main titles; they hadn't earned their spots yet. They were too new, too green. They didn't have the pull with the crowd yet.

"Come on, Johnny." She murmured quietly as her dark eyes never left the monitor. "I know you can do this." She clenched her fists into her palms, teetering slightly on her crutches. She fixed her long hair back over her shoulder, leaving a strand of it to nervously twirl between her fingers.

Johnny was amazing out there. No one in the whole roster was like him. His muscled body, his agile grace, and his willingness to extend himself beyond all expectations was what made Melina fall for him in the first place. Yes, Johnny was incredible. But apparently not incredible enough to impress Hunter into letting him have more of a run with the title. Melina braced herself on her crutches, kicking a piece of trash with her good foot in anger. Drew and Sheamus march right on into the WWE, have a few matches and get handed gold in a matter of mere months simply because they impress one guy? Johnny worked hard for years and it never seemed to pay off like it did for Drew and Sheamus. "Stupid ghost. Stupid fucking ghost. They don't get it, they don't understand it. They don't deserve it."

Melina looked up at the monitor again, watching Johnny do what he did best. His body rippled in agile movement as he ducked under Drew to deliver a powerful uppercut to his stomach. Sweat glistened off his hard back as his hair flew around him like silk. She couldn't help but smile a bit at that; Johnny was strong and rigid, but sweet and soft. It was a strange and wonderful dichotomy she'd come to love about Johnny over the course of their relationship.

It was hard to believe that a man with hands were ripping into Drew were the same hands that held her on nights when they could be together. Those same tough hands were so gentle, running down her face, down her sides. Melina flushed a little, letting out a small sigh. She touched her cheek, nearly feeling Johnny's presence still there, lingering on her soft skin.

The crowd roared loudly, bringing Melina out of her trance. She shook the thoughts from her mind as she turned her attention back to the monitor. Johnny hand his hands on the ropes, jumping up and bouncing off of them to perform a move that gave her a small conniption fit every time. Johnny's starship pain brought him too close to the mat in a complicated move that could potentially end his career if he missed a step. Melina gritted her teeth as the crowd exploded in excitement at Johnny's work, only to go silent when Drew brought up his knees.

Johnny's face was awash in pain as he rolled away from Drew, a hand on his back. Melina let out a soft, surprised scream, covering her mouth with her hand. She wondered briefly if this is what Shawn's wife did when ever her husband looked like he was in serious pain. "Johnny!" Melina watched in horror as Drew crawled over, capitalizing on her boyfriend's misfortune to get the pin. She grabbed the front of her chest, feeling her heart breaking for Johnny.

Hunter walked over to her, looking at the screen. "Oh owch, that's gotta hurt."

Melina scowled slightly looking out of the corner of her eye at Hunter.

"Well, too bad. Looks like Drew's going to remain our champion for a long time."

To this day Melina wasn't sure if it was Hunter's voice, Hunter's smug look, or just Hunter in general that caused her to put all of her weight on her good leg in order hit the man with her crutch. "Bastard nepotistic son of a-!" Unending streams of insults poured out of her mouth. She couldn't stop swearing or hitting even if she wanted to. "He doesn't deserve it! You think he's a young you so you gave him the belt you awful piece of-!"

"Melina, Melina stop!" Johnny's voice fell on deaf ears as he had to pull his girlfriend from Hunter. She still swung one of her crutches around trying in vain to keep hitting Hunter. "I'm sorry Hunter! She's …passionate." He apologized, struggling to drag his fighting girlfriend away from the scene.

Later that night, Melina was still scowling, Johnny was still smarting. He adjusted the heating pack on his back as it slowly ebbed the pain from Drew's knees away. "You didn't have to do that."

She looked up from her spot in the overstuffed hotel chair. "Yes I did." Melina muttered twirling one of her crutches in her hand. "He deserved my wrath, Johnny. He just… I…"

"Melina, it's okay." Johnny took the heating pad off of him and rolled off the bed. He winced at the soreness shooting through his back as he hobbled on over to her. "You don't have to be my big bad protector." He smiled a little running her hands through her hair. "One day it'll be mine again. Hopefully sooner than later, but until then I have this amazing girl who thinks of me before anything else- and that's one piece of gold Drew can't take from me."

Melina smirked proudly. "Damn straight, Johnny." She reached out to stroke his leg through his jeans. "And your fans- your fans love you. They know what's what. They know Drew doesn't deserve to hold that title. You're destined for amazing things, Johnny."

Johnny got down on the floor, resting his head against her leg. Her hands worked their way through his dark brown hair, eliciting a purr from him. "I still got it?"

"Baby, it never left. You give everything away out there, and it shows night after night. You're gonna get that one big push and then the star's the limit. You'll be huge- bigger than anyone ever before you."

Johnny began to smile. "You really mean that, don't you? Thanks Meli, you're my greatest critic and my biggest fan. I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

"Your life wouldn't nearly be as interesting- and hell. I bet there'd be a whole lot less screaming involved." She snickered and reached down to turn Johnny's chin up to look at her. "I love you, John Morrison- Johnny Nitro- whoever you are. I love you enough to kick the snot out of Hunter with a crutch."

Johnny snickered slightly. "Oh, I'm aware Melina. You're some little lady, that's for sure." He shut his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers through his hair. Melina made every moment on stage or in the ring feel like he was the undisputed champion; it was a feeling worth more than its weight in gold.

1999: The NWO 2000 locker room

Bret furiously dried off his beer soaked hair, muttering curses. Kevin and Jeff were still in the locker room with him, taking the full force of his silent rage. He looked at himself in the mirror, covered in stale beer and sweat. He tore the towel from his head throwing it on the ground in disgust. When he came here he had high hopes. How quickly they were dashed. Bret was covered in WWF colors unlike any other man before him. No one talked to him for months. The loneliness alone nearly made him walk right back out those doors.

"It's not that bad, Bret." Nash said watching as Bret began to carefully pick through the strands of his now sticky hair. "A good shampoo and-"

Bret held up his hand in an 'I don't want to talk about it anymore' gesture. He clenched his fist around the metal locker, wanting to tear the damn thing straight off its hinges. He felt a hand on his shoulder, bristling slightly at the touch. He whirled around ready to take the head off of who ever had the gall to touch him in his current state. His face instantly softened when he saw who it was. "Jeff-"

"Bret, you're actin' like a big ole baby. It's just beer. It happens. We're heels, we're gonna get pelted with garbage. It's nothin' new."

The older man sighed, looking at JJ. JJ was Owen's best friend. Having him around helped. He reached out ruffling the shorter man's hair. "You're right, I shouldn't get mad. It's just I never felt like I belonged here, and a whole lot of beer in my hair doesn't help that notion any."

JJ quickly fixed his mussed hair, giving Bret a look. "Well, ya do belong here, Bret. As much as it sucks sometimes, we'll always be a family. Don't you forget it- now if ya don't mind, I gotta go. Gotta a dinner date."

"Family…" Bret murmured watching as JJ went to gather his things, throwing them into his duffle bag. He waved good bye as the younger man left. It was him and Nash left in the locker room. Bret kept his back turned to him as he slowly bent down to pick up his towel.

Kevin leaned up against the lockers, admiring the view with a bit of a smirk on his face. "You know, sometimes you remind me a lot of Sha-"

Bret's hand shot up, waving a one finger salute. "Don't you even dare make that comparison Kevin Nash, or I'll-"

"Especially now." Kevin continued snatching Bret's wrist before it could turn into one of his powerful punches. "When you act like a diva…" He grabbed another blow aimed for his face, grappling with the smaller man until he had his wrists pinned behind his back. He dragged the kicking and cursing man from the lockers and into the showers. "It's so much easier to get the drop on you." He brought Bret into the showers, turning the cold water jets on them. "You have to understand something, Bret. I know you're upset. I know you don't think you belong here, but you're wrong."

Bret sputtered under the water finally breaking free enough to shove Nash away from him.

"You _do_ belong here. You belong with us. The fans aren't mad at you, they don't like angle. You're still relevant, Bret." Kevin held his hands up toward his shoulders in a defensive position, just in case Bret went on the war path again. He saw the rage drip slowly off Bret like water through his dark hair. "If I didn't think so, would I have gotten into a shower fully dressed with you with no signs of fuck afterward?"

Bret pushed his dripping wet locks from his face to better look at a super drenched Kevin. "You have a point. You barely do anything unless it involves a fuck." He reached back to turn off the water. "Thanks Kevin- for the reality check, not for the soaking." He flicked his soaking hair back over his shoulder, getting Kevin wet in the process.

"Ya know…" Kevin stepped forward placing his hand on Bret's cheek. "You remind of him in a lot of good ways."

"Don't push your luck." Bret made a face at him, stripping out of his soaking wet singlet and boots. He turned his back to Kevin, turning the shower back on. "Don't make me take back my thank you."

Kevin smirked leaning back against the tiles, enjoying the view. "Don't worry."

"You can leave, you know." Bret glared over his shoulder.

"Nah. Not yet. I want to make sure you're emotionally stable again. Hitman hissy-fits are legendary in these parts ya know."

"Yeah yeah, I know exactly why you're staying." Bret said while running a bar of soap over his skin. He stuck his ass out ever so slightly, earning an appreciative noise from Kevin. He smirked to himself when he heard it. "I knew it."

"Like I said, sometimes you remind me of him in a lot of good ways, Bret."

FIN


	9. Swallowed

(THIS IS A SLASH STORY. _SEX HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER_. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SLASH PLEASE DO NOT READ)

Fic title: Swallowed  
Song: Swallowed by Bush  
Pairings: Kurt Angle/Jeff Jarrett, Kazarian/AJ Styles, James Storm/Robert Roode  
Characters: Jeff Jarrett, James Storm, Robert Roode, AJ Syles, Kazarian, Kurt Angle  
Mentions of: Dixie Carter, Eric Bischoff, Hulk Hogan  
Rated: M FOR SEX, AND LANGUAGE  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: A severe storm strikes the impact zone /bad summary  
Genre: General

0000

It was a beautiful day outside. The kind of day that rarely came around; or perhaps maybe they did. For the past few months Jeff was far too busy to even notice. But this morning as he stood out on the balcony of his apartment in his blue jeans with a cup of coffee, he couldn't help but take in the flawless blue sky and pleasant breeze. He took in a deep breath of fresh Orlando morning air before letting it out to finish up his coffee. He shut the door to his balcony, going over to his bed.

Jeff smoothed his hands over the shirt on the bed that he had picked out at the store. It was forever since he bought himself any kind of nice thing, especially clothes. The gentleman at the store assured Jeff that the soft blue color of it was very complimentary to his eyes; which he promptly thanked him for. He hummed a soft tune as he put it on, buttoning it up. After a quick once over in the mirror he found himself nodding in agreement with the words in his head. _It does bring out my eyes_. He smiled at the thought, pulling on a pair of boots while glancing up at the clock. _10:30, I have plenty of time before I meet Kurt for lunch. _ He fussed with his blonde hair for a moment, before he fussed it back to the way it was. "Ugh." He grumbled softly and gave up on the pursuit for a perfect style for now. His cell phone ringing in his bag drew him out of state, as he cast a look toward it. He chewed his lip in thought. _That could be Kurt. Or it could be Dixie. Or Eric. Or Hogan. Either one of those three could potentially ruin my day. _Right around the tenth ring he sighed in defeat and went to go pick it up. "Lo?"

"Jeff, it's Dixie."

"Figured as much." He muttered and sat on the edge of his bed. "What needs to be done that no one else can do but me for X reason?"

"It's the payroll, Jeff. Something with the numbers aren't matching up. You know what to do with it, do you mind coming in to go over everything before we start paying people who really shouldn't get a check?"

"But that'll take all day!" He sputtered and glanced at the clock. "I have a date in a few hours!"

"And I'm half way across the country in a meeting. Hogan and Eric don't know how to do it…"

Jeff listened to her as she trailed off slowly. He bit back a sigh and nodded. "Fine. I'll do it. I don't really have a choice do I? People gotta get paid."

"Thanks, Jeff! You're a-"

He didn't bother to hear the empty praise that usually followed those commonly heard words. He tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed his keys. It was only 10:30, maybe he could check everything and still make it on time to meet Kurt.

0000

"More wine sir?"

Kurt looked past the waiter at the rod iron clock in the middle of the outdoor courtyard. "It's 1:45?" He asked slowly.

The waiter nodded. "Yes sir. Fifteen minutes passed since you last asked me that." He frowned watching as his customer looked despairingly at the clock. "…I think you've been stood up, sir."

Kurt shook his head pulling out his phone. "Jeff's not like that. If there was a problem, he'd call me. And no- no more wine. …Give me a minute." He punched in Jeff's phone number, shifting in the chair as he stared out at the landscape. When Jeff's tired, and annoyed southern twang greeted him, he sighed with relief. "Jeff! Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kurt. Oh wait. What time- oh shit. Oh shit, Kurt I'm sorry! Dixie gave me the task of going over the payroll because no one else can and I lost track of time! I'll be right there-"

Kurt shook his head slowly as he listened to Jeff's frantic sounding babble. "No, don't bother Jeff. I have a better idea. You sit tight, _I'll_ be right there. When she gets back from this meeting, this shit's got to change! I'm tired of them working you like a damn dog, Jeff. It's starting to affect our relationship outside of the company, and to be blatantly honest, that's more important to me than the working one."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I know it's absolutely crazy, Kurt. I'll make it up to you somehow."

"That's not the point. I swear I'm going to use every last bit of influence I have to make them leave you the hell alone. I can't stand to see, well… hear you so upset." Kurt brought a hand up to his temple, massaging it while he glanced at the menu. He beckoned the waiter down to show him what he was pointing at.

It went quiet on the other end of the line for a few tense moments, before Jeff uttered his soft reply. "Upset doesn't even cover it."

"I know Jeff. It's really not fair. I'll be there in a bit alright? We can talk about it then. See you in a bit." He hung up the phone and looked to the waiter. "You wouldn't happen to have a big basket to shove all that in would you? And I'll need a bottle of wine. Like… strong wine. The kind of wine that makes you forget about your job, wine."

"I see sir, very good sir- one picnic lunch to go. It's for the best though; it feels like it wants to rain."

Kurt glanced up to the sky and looked at the waiter in disbelief. "There are hardly any clouds in the sky."

"You can smell it in the air. It's heavy; it's going to rain." The waiter said firmly. "And our food, while delicious, is no good when it's soggy."

0000

Jeff had his head on the desk in his closet of an office. He uttered a slow, ragged sigh. The payroll was fixed, but at the expense of the date he was looking forward to having. He glanced to the picture of him shaking Kurt's hand on the day he signed him to TNA. "I don't deserve you, Kurt." He muttered tipping the frame down. He couldn't bear to look at the happy, smiling faces staring back at him. _The Jeff Jarrett from five years ago would never have passed up a date with Kurt Angle of all people. 'Cept the Jeff Jarrett of five years ago was a person Kurt Angle wasn't interested in, ironically enough._ He sat up in his seat and ran his hand through his golden hair, trying hard not to get further frustrated with himself. The knock on his door brought him out of it. "Damn it James, if you try n' bother me again I will have to smack you." He grumbled and went over to answer the door.

"I've come to save the founder from the paperwork. I come barring lobster bisque." Kurt held up the picnic basket and bottle of wine. He took in the sight of Jeff, tired, red eyed, slumped shoulders. "…Just in the nick of time apparently."

"Kurt!" Jeff's face instantly brightened. "Thank god. I just finished not too long ago. Congrats, you're gonna get paid."

"Oh, fantastic. It is a good day then!" Kurt smirked putting an arm around him. "Hope you're hungry."

"I am. Come on; let's go eat this in Dixie's office. There's no room in mine."

0000

A half an hour later, Jeff was laying on the ground of Dixie's office his hands planted firmly on his midsection. His belly felt warm from all the wine he managed to guzzle down. He let out a happy sigh, looking to Kurt with a big smile. "Thank ya, Kurt."

"You're welcome, Jeff. It was no problem. Nothing says we're having a classy lunch better like drinking wine out of a Styrofoam cup from catering." Kurt sighed finishing off the last little bit of wine in the cup.

Jeff gave him an amused look. "Welcome to the world of Jeff Jarrett, Kurt. At times it jus' screams trailer trash class. …I am grateful though, ya saved my day. You sure you ain't some kind of superhero in disguise?"

Kurt watched as Jeff slowly sat up, crawling over to sit beside him. He looked at the relaxed, serene expression on his face, cupping his cheek. "Aw, Jeff. I have to find some other way to get you to relax other than filing you up with wine."

"I like wine." He drawled. "That was good wine. …Ya must have spent a bunch on it. And there are other ways to get me relaxed. Maybe I'll give you the keys to the safe." He brought his face in close, kissing a trail down his neck. He swung his legs over Kurt's, flopping down on his lap straddling him.

"Jeff, I uh- Hold on a moment. You don't have-"

"Shh." Jeff reached down and grabbed Kurt's hands placing them on his backside. "Jus' go with it." He could feel Kurt's hesitation; his hands were barely touching him. However the more Jeff moved his lips and mouth along his neck and jaw line, the firmer Kurt's grip got. "Mmmm, mmm oh Kurt." He breathed out moving his mouth over to Kurt's lips.

Kurt felt himself melting against Jeff's soft lips, sliding his tongue into older man's mouth. Jeff moaned appreciatively, letting his hands run over Kurt's head. He slid his hands down the roundness of Jeff's backside. Jeff seemed to kiss back harder whenever he gave a squeeze, so he continued to tease, slap, and squeeze him.

"Ah! Kurt!" Jeff gasped out, breaking the intense kiss. He grabbed Kurt's button down shirt in his hands, ripping it open. Buttons flew everywhere, pinging off the surfaces in the office. He started working Kurt's sport coat and shirt off, getting a hand from the other man. Soon enough he found himself flat on the office floor with a shirtless Kurt hovering over him. Jeff turned his head to the side, nearly purring when Kurt's lips attacked his neck. He put his arms around Kurt's warm back, sighing in contentment, up until he saw the far too dark sky for 2:30 in the afternoon. "Kurt…"

Kurt was half way down Jeff's chest, his western shirt in his mouth when the difference in the smaller man's tone got through to him. He dropped the shirt, looking to see what Jeff was looking at. "I can't believe that stupid waiter was right. Looks like it's about to pour. Ah well." He brought himself down to kiss Jeff again, but found himself kissing air. He watched Jeff scramble to get up head over to the large picture window. "It's just a storm, Jeff. They happen all the time."

"No. It doesn't get this dark out for a normal storm. There's a radio on the shelf, can ya turn it on to 1600 AM, please?"

Kurt stared at Jeff's back for a moment, contemplating what the founder just asked him to do. It was a storm, nothing more. Sighing softly he stood up and went over to the shelf to take down the radio. After fiddling with the knobs, he turned it to the station. It popped and crackled with static before the announcer came on.

"A large super cell thunder storm has moved into the area. The possibility for a tornado is high. All those in the vicinity of Orlando and surrounding suburbs should take the appropriate cover to avoid injury. All those outside need to take cover indoors; the possibility for ground lightening strikes is very high. Please keep turned into this station for all weather related updates."

Kurt quickly threw on his jacket, grumbling to himself. "This sort of thing doesn't happen in Philadelphia. Is there any place we can go to for cover here?"

"Not particularly." Jeff grabbed up the radio and took Kurt's arm. "We should get to my apartment building. We can take cover there. Come on, its right around the corner. Don't worry Kurt; I've been through my share of bad weather." He touched his arm lightly before the two started off down the hall. The lights flickered above them as the sound of the wind began to pick up. "Hooo-eee. That sounds nasty. It's a good thing we're getting out of here in time."

"You're telling me." Kurt went to open the door but stopped as he stared at the other vehicles in the lot. "Jeff, there's still people here."

Jeff froze, staring at the remaining cars in the lot. "That's James' truck. Him and Bobby were here earlier. They mustn't have left yet. And… that's AJ's car. We can't leave without them. They must not know about the weather. I'll get James and Robert, you get AJ."

"What? No. I'll get Storm and Roode. _You_ get AJ."

Jeff looked at him dumbfounded. "You don't think I can handle those two?"

"No, it's not you it's them. They'll give you trouble and we don't have time for trouble."

"Kurt-"

Kurt shook his head and grabbed Jeff's shoulders. "Listen Jeff, I'd rather you get AJ. If we can't meet up with you, I'll at least know you two can go find shelter somewhere. I'd rather think that you went off to safety and I'll die with those two idiots than have it be the other way around."

Jeff rolled his eyes and sighed. "Damn it Kurt, I'm a man. I'm not some stupid damsel! I can deal with those two without a problem so-"

"I can't lose you." He said firmly, stopping Jeff in midsentence. He bit his lip, looking to Jeff with uncertainty in his eyes. "I can't." He shook his head and looked at him, putting a hand on his cheek. "Not this way, not because of some stupid storm. I just… can't. I care about you too much. Please Jeff, just humor me."

Jeff leaned into the hand on his cheek, uttering a soft sigh. "Fine. I'll go get AJ. Meet me in front of my office in five minutes. If you don't see me, make your way down to the pit in the backstage area. If I don't see you, I'll do the same."

Kurt brought him in for a quick kiss before the two of them broke off in different directions.

0000

"You're just jealous man, that's all I'm saying." AJ smirked holding up his new TNA action figure. "It's like a little me. I have a little me, and you have… oh… that's right. You don't _have_ an action figure."

Kazarian threw his wet towel at AJ before he went over to run a comb through his damp hair. "No. You're right. I don't have a TNA action figure. I have a better one." He threw his comb into his bag and rustled through it. "Ah hah!"

AJ looked at the plastic figure of Zorro in his hand, raising an eyebrow slowly. "…That's Zorro."

"Exactly. For I am the Bander-Kaz. This is my _action figure_." Kazarian explained dramatically. "Handsome and suave- like Antonio Banderas. Only I wrestle instead of making movies for women to swoon over." He put his hands on his hips and turned his head to the side, looking off at nothing in particular in a dramatic gaze. Silence passed through the locker room until it was broken by strained, then full force laughter from AJ.

"Seriously! Man… I don't even know. I just don't even…" He paused looking back at his own bag before pulling out another figure. "I didn't think the TNA founder hired a movie star wrestler."

Kazarian made a face at AJ and then looked to the Jarrett figure in his hand. "…It looks like he's running away from something." He snatched the figure up and looked at it. "Kinda funny how toys imitate life. Why do you have these with you?"

AJ snatched the toy back. "They gave all of us a set of them who had a figure in the line. I just got mine." He said defensively and shoved it in the bag.

"So as a grown man, you walk around with a bag full of action figures?"

AJ scowled up at him. "Don't you even dare try to make that comment after pulling a figure of Zorro out of your bag. Besides… If it came down to it? You know Bander-Kaz Zorro or whatever the heck you're calling yourself wouldn't last against the Captain." He pulled out the Kurt Angle figure from his bag. "No one's as badass as the Captain; sorry to burst your bubble."

Kazarian wrinkled his nose at him. "Oh, Captain America there might be no physical match for…" He pointed to himself. "The Bander-Kaz. But the Captain can't even touch how the Bander-Kaz makes love beneath the sheets. Maybe that is why…" He put his hand into the bag pulling out the Jarrett doll. "The founder looks like he wants to run away. The Captain needs to ask the Bander-Kaz for advice before he suplexes his lover through the bed."

AJ stared up at him again, shaking his head in disbelief before he continued. "Well maybe Jarrett needs to man up in bed then and stop being a baby."

"No man, super hero, or… super lover… should ever suplex their lover through the bed. You know with that bald head I'm sure he's aerodynamically sound- he must pick up speed when doing a suplex." Kazarian looked at AJ who looked right back at him. The silence between them broke into fits of laughter.

"Man, you're too much Frankie. You're just too much." He tossed the toy back into his bag holding it open so Kazarian could put the Jarrett one inside.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? They might try to boink inside your bag." Kazarian laughed and threw his own bag over his shoulder. "That was a good work out though, thanks for inviting me."

"No problem, man. I like having a work out buddy." He stood up and put an arm around his shoulder. "Even if he does have a split personality and one of them happens to be an egotistical Spanish rogue."

"The Bander-Kaz… has no comment." Kazarian laughed and threw an arm around AJ. "Come on, I'm starved. Let's grab an early dinner."

"Sounds great to me!" AJ nodded pausing briefly when he saw the lights in the room flickering wildly. The two men looked around, suddenly aware of the pounding rain and howling wind. "…When did that start?"

"I don't know- but the hell if I want my clothes getting soaked. Let's order a pizza here or somethin' instead. We can eat it in Dixie's office." The lights flickered again nearly going out.

"I don't know about the pizza, but I think staying put's a good idea. It sounds terrible out there." AJ went to reach for the door only to have it flung open from the other side.

"There you are!" Jeff ran his hand over his hair. "I've been looking everywhere for… Frankie?"

"Hey Jeff." Kazarian said sheepishly. "What's the matter- ya look a little frantic. We're going to order something for dinner, you want to join us? AJ's not feeling the pizza, I could use your vote."

Jeff looked at them for a moment before gesturing to the ceiling. "There's a tornado warnin' for the area, ya numbskulls! Come on, we gotta go seek shelter. Ya got everything of importance to ya?"

"Yeah, we just had our bags with us. It's never boring in the Impact Zone." AJ shook his head following behind Jeff. He kept a hold on Kazarian's arm to keep them all at the same pace, as the other man staggered behind him.

"Tornado?" Kazarian squeaked out.

"Mmmhmm. They're scary but me n' Jeff have been through im' before. They're just one of those things that happen down here. It'll be alright." AJ looked back at him and gave him a reassuring smile. "Is there anyone else here or are we the lucky ones?"

"Oh yeah. James and Bobby, n' Kurt. We're supposed to meet them in front a my office, provided James n' Bobby didn't give poor Kurt a hard time."

"Ya left Kurt to Bobby and James? Why the hell would you do that?"

Kazarian nodded in agreement with AJ. "Yeah, that's like… feeding a boy scout to the wolves."

"I am aware of the whole situation boys- thank you." Jeff gritted his teeth. Up above them the wind whipped and tore at the ceiling. He felt himself beginning to sweat in nervousness as his stomach churned. "He demanded to handle them himself. I don't think he knows what he's gotten himself into. If he doesn't meet up with us, I want you two boys to go find shelter- no buts, jus' go. The place we have Kurt come out of in his entrance will do fine- that whole area is made of reinforced steel. Ya can get to it via a door down the hallway. "

"But what about you, Jeff?" AJ frowned a little.

"No way am I leavin' Kurt behind. He's the best thing that ever happened to me. I lose him, I lose everything."

"…We're not going to leave you behind either, Jeff. There's four people runnin' this place backstage and only one of them do we actually like. If Kurt doesn't meet up with us, we're going with you to find him." Kazarian nodded looking to AJ. "The Bander-Kaz and the AJ Styles would never leave the founder behind."

"I appreciate the loyalty, boys. I really-"Jeff paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder. "…Bander-Kaz?"

"Don't ask." AJ muttered shaking his head.

0000

When Kurt pushed the door open to the BMI change room he expected drinking, and possibly Roode doing paper work. What he didn't expect to see was James propped up against the lockers naked from the waist down with Roode plowing into him from behind. He stared at them stupidly feeling his face heat up like a tomato. "Uhhhhm."

"Kurt. We are in the middle of something. Do you mind? No one ever knocks in this place." Robert frowned looking over to the red faced Kurt. He squeezed James' hip in response, rolling his own deep into him getting a nice moan as reward.

"Yeah Kurt- stop bein' a perv and get the hell out. Or wait a few minutes. Bobby don't last too lo- YEOWCH! Bobby!" James cast a nasty look over his shoulder at the stinging slap to his ass. "I mean, ya might want to come back in a half hour." He said flatly.

"Yeah, ah.. I will. Again- uh… sorry." He ducked out of the room, running a hand over his beat red flesh before it dawned on him. "Ugh. Tornado. Right." He turned right back around, heading right back in. "You two have to listen to me!"

"Again Kurt?" James gave him a bored look before biting back a moan. "And ya still didn't knock."

"Maybe he wants a free show, Bobby. He must not order any pay-per-view stuff in his hotel room." James snickered looking back at the other man still positioning in and out of him. Robert looked just as amused.

"No no, Kurt's not the type to do that James. He's too… _You_ know." Robert grunted one last time, feeling himself erupt into James. He rode out the last bit of his orgasm, groaning out when he was finished.

James nodded, bracing his legs a bit better as he felt relief spreading through his body as he released all onto his stomach. He pulled himself off of Robert, reaching for a towel to clean his stomach off. "Yeah, well- that was the crib notes version, Kurt."

"He better learn. He's going to be doing this with Jarrett- should he make it around the bases."

James stopped struggling to get on his jeans to stare at Robert. "He… what? Do _what_ with Dub-J?" He got the zipper up on his jeans before pointing an accusing at the flustered man.

"James, where have you been? Jarrett's been seeing Kurt for over two month now." He pulled on his tee shirt and jeans, looking to his dismayed partner. He sighed rolling his eyes a bit as James' wild eyed stare bore right into him.

"What's it to you anyway, James? I can date who I want." Kurt adjusted his coat for effect. "That includes Jeff Jarrett."

James lunged for Kurt, pinning the man up against the wall. "Nobody dates Dub-J unless they ask me first! He belongs tah me. He gave me everything. Anyone who wants to date him has to go through me first. It's why Dub-J is always single. Cuz no one is ever good enough."

Kurt looked at him for a minute before finally speaking. "That really makes no sense, James."

"You shouldn't try to think on it, Kurt. James' logic makes no sense, but he'll fight you until the day grows old about it. And relax, James. He obviously didn't get with Jarrett today, despite the shirt."

James stared right back at Kurt before releasing his coat. "That's true." He nodded and snickered. "Sorry about your shirt there, Kurt, but when ya get a boy from Tennessee all riled up property damage does tend ta happen. Looks like you may have gotten away with some fun, but when I'm not so drunk I'mma gonna kick the crap outta ya for it. That shit don't fly around Dub-J. He ain't so good with pickin' his own relationships. N' he deserves better than that."

Kurt looked defensively down at his harassed shirt. He pulled it closed, looking to the two of them with a frown. "How the hell do you know I didn't make it all the way with Jeff anyway?"

As soon as the words fell out of Kurt's mouth, Robert and James grinned like a pack of jackals. "When I was hangin' in close n' tight with Dub-J back in the day, I learned somethin' real important. Always bring ear plugs or some loud music. Durin' the heat a passion-"

"-You can hear Jarrett all the way down the hall." Robert finished off, howling loudly for effect. James joined in with him, and soon enough the two of them were howling in laughter.

James knuckled away a tear of laughter, slapping his knee. "It's why I'm gunna save beatin' ya up for makin' out with Dub-J for another day. I know ya couldn'a gotten far. Woooooooooeeeeeeeeeee, Bobby I need a beer. Sounds like the wind's howlin' outside jus' as loud as Dub-J."

Kurt felt his face burning up. He didn't quite know what to say about that until the pelting rain and thunder echoed in the little room brought him back to reality. "There's a tornado coming!" He blurted out. "I came to get you two idiots; good lord come on!" He looked at James' suddenly serious face and Robert's bewildered one.

"Well shit Kurt! Why the hell didn't ya say anythin' sooner? We gotta get the hell outta here! Come on Bobby, get your things. We gotta get to shelter."

"If you didn't spend the whole time berating me and getting me off track, I would have!" He shook his head running out of the room with Robert and James finally in tow. The rain pinged and pounded off the roof as the wind constantly roared over them. Kurt felt his body begin to sweat, his heart racing with all the adrenaline coursing through him. Up ahead he saw Jeff, AJ, and Kazarian running right for them.

"There you are! What the hell happened to you? You weren't by my office. I couldn't… I couldn't go off without you. AJ n' Kaz felt the same way." Jeff ran for Kurt, wrapping his arms around him in a quick hug. "You don't know how happy I am to see you." He pulled away putting his hands on his face.

"Next time you can get beer money." Kurt murmured knocking his forehead gently against Jeff's.

"Enough of the closeness!" James grumbled pushing the two of them apart. "This relationship doesn't have the Storm stamp of approval!" Before Jeff could formally react he stopped standing still in horror as he watched a truck come slamming through the hallway wall. Bits of concrete and glass exploded into the enclosed area bringing the elements of the storm inside. The men turned away from the shower of debris, trying to protect themselves from potential cuts and damages.

Jeff grabbed Kurt's hand and began to run. His vision was clouded, he could barely see. He heard the shouts of AJ and the others, knowing they were close by. He heard himself barking out orders loudly, but he barely understood the words coming out of him. Everything felt thick and unreal, like they were running through a fog. The roar of the storm filled his ears. It occupied his mind, it made him sweat. He nearly ripped off the handle of the door leading to underneath the stage. He ran with Kurt and the boys following behind him. He heard their foot falls and shouts; it felt comforting to know they were all there together. Even though they were out of the immediate danger of the destroyed hallway it felt like the storm was at their heels. He unlocked the door to underneath the stage, holding it open for the others to run in. Jeff shut the door behind him, sliding a big sheet of wood over the door. He finally turned around looking at the men with him. Robert had his arm around James at the bigger man attempted to catch his breath as he remained bent over, his hands on his knees. AJ was chewing hard on his lip while Kazarian paced nervously close behind him, and Kurt- finally Kurt.

"Kurt…" He uttered a choked sob, nearly falling into his arms. He breathed in and out hard, his breath shaky and uneven as he attempted to calm down. Kurt's arms snaked around him, holding him close. He buried his face into Kurt's strong shoulder, taking in the comforting scent of his cologne. "Oh, Kurt."

"It's alright Jeff. We're safe. It's fine." He ran his hands through his hair gently, feeling the tremors going through Jeff as he tried to calm himself down. "We're fine. We're safe."

AJ reached around and took Kazarian's arm. "Come on, man. It's okay. We're safe. It's all reinforced down here." AJ reached over and knocked on the walls for effect. He took the other man over to a corner and sat them both down. "You've never been through a tornado, have you?"

Kazarian shook his head. "No. Bander-Kaz doesn't do battles with tornados. Talk to the cousin of the Bander-Kaz, Don Quixote." He offered him a small, lopsided smile.

AJ grinned. "Frankie… you're a nut. Well, the AJ Styles has been through a few. They're pretty terrifying, even for the best of the masked rapier wielding superheroes. But… so long as the AJ Styles is stuck with someone like the Bander-Kaz, it's not too awful." He reached down patting the other man on the leg.

Kazarian reached down, grasping his hand. He felt AJ's fingers closing around his own. The gesture felt so comforting he couldn't help but relax. "Thanks, AJ."

"Any time, Frankie." He murmured trying hard not to listen to the sounds of the storm tearing up everything around them outside of the steel they were encased in. He shut his eyes, listening quietly to the other voices close by him.

"Bobby." James froze up looking at him with wide eyes. "Bobby, my beer. I gotta get my beer."

"What? You can't be serious." Kurt frowned. "It's just beer. You can go out there and risk your damn life for it!"

"Ya don't understand." James mumbled. "I need the beer. I need it more than anything now get the hell outta my way!"

"James no! You can't, it's too dangerous." Bobby grabbed the other man by the shoulders. They struggled, with James trying hard to violently twist away. "I'll buy you a twenty-four pack for shits sake! Don't go out there." He looked over James' shoulders as the man fought against him to Jeff. "Do something! He actually listens to you!"

Jeff looked to Kurt briefly before pulling out of the warmth of his arms. He glared hard at the back of James, grabbing him by the shoulder to spin him around. "James! No. Jus'… no. No beer. You don't need the beer. It ain't worth it." He murmured and ran a hand over James' hair gently. "I know why ya want the damn beer, ya don't need it. It will be alright, James. I promise it will."

James took in a breath and nodded. He wrapped his arms around Jeff in a brief hug before pulling away. "Kay, Dub-J. You know I trust you more than anyone else in this world." He gave Jeff's arms a brief squeeze before letting him go back to Kurt. "Come on Bobby- start mackin' on me damnit. I need to get my fool mind outta this situation and if I can't do it with beer…"

"Already on it." Robert grinned pulling James into an embrace.

Jeff shook his head slowly turning to face Kurt. "…I promise tornados don't normally interrupt my dates." He cracked a small smile.

"Nah, we've been on ten dates. Only one of them has ended in a natural disaster. So… 10% of the time I should expect some kind of mayhem. Weather related or other… You can't scare me off."

"Even though I drink wine out of a Styrofoam cup?"

"That just means the catering has to start bringing in steam ware." Kurt gave him an amused look before glancing up to the ceiling. The sound of twisting metal and heavy objects crashing to the floor above them made him wince. He held on to Jeff, bringing them down to the floor just in time to avoid a heavy piece of debris denting in the floor.

"God, Kurt- the impact zone."

Kurt looked down into Jeff's pained expression. He ran a hand down Jeff's face, watching as the blonde man's eyes shut. When he opened them again, he saw them full of unshed tears. "I know." He murmured. "I'm sorry. I really am." Jeff turned from him, palming away the tears.

"No, no. It's okay Kurt. It's really okay." He murmured resting his head on Kurt's shoulder. "I'll be okay." The roar of the storm washed over them. The whole area shook and clanged as if the whole area was going to be torn right out from under them. Jeff clung to Kurt, gritting his teeth a little. James stopped kissing Robert long enough to mutter 'I really need a beer'. Robert put his arms around him, hugging him tight. AJ looked to Kaz, and Kaz to AJ. AJ opened his mouth to utter something, but what it was he soon forgot. Kaz kissed him hard on the lips, as if the gesture was enough to make him forget the awful storm raging around them.

Slowly, everything came to a halt. No wind, no thunder, no loud crashes. It was over. Jeff picked his head up from Kurt's shoulder listening hard. No rain, no anything. He pulled himself up from Kurt, extending his hand down to help the other man to his feet. "It's okay, it's over."

"Finally! God, I really need a beer!" James got up looking to Robert. "Ya owe me a twenty-four pack. I'm holdin' ya to it!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just glad you didn't try to go and get one yourself." Robert looked at him and shook his head. "You'll be the death of me one way or another, and I don't think you care."

James smirked at him. "A' course I do! I care more than ya think I do! Besides, I won't drive ya to death's door. I'll jus' drive ya crazy." He elbowed Robert in the side. "Lookie at AJ and Kaz. Wooooeeee, they're gonna round to second base. Kurt might get another free show."

Kurt flushed. "James- whatever. You know what, I'm not gonna even bother."

"Free show?" Jeff gave him an amused look, and then shook his head. He glanced over to Kazarian and AJ. AJ had his hands combing through Kazarian's dark hair, while Jeff could barely make out where the other man's hands were. He chuckled softly, and touched AJ's shoulder. "Come on guys, break it up. We better get out of here- I don't to press our luck any."

Kazarian broke free, sucking in a breath of air. "T-tornado's over? …What, already? What a wimpy storm."

AJ punched him lightly in the arm as they got up. "Someone went from scared boy to brave hornball in record timing."

"The Bander-Kaz was taken in by the tasty lips of the AJ Styles." Kazarian laughed and followed behind the other men out of the room. Once they were out in the open, utter devastation greeted them. The impact zone was caving in on itself in some areas, and missing complete walls in others. Sirens, screams, and shouts were heard clearly in the open air. Kazarian linked his hand with AJ, frowning in silence.

James took his hat off, casting a look to Jeff. Robert put his hand on the back of his partner, resting his chin on his shoulder. James continued to watch Jeff's motionless form as Kurt slowly approached. He reached for Jeff's shoulder.

Jeff suddenly broke away from Kurt, stumbling carelessly over the debris as he made his way through the ruins of his dream toward the ring. He heard the sounds of protest from the others but he couldn't be assed to care. His legs carried him in through the backstage and down the ruined ramp. Once he got to the ring, he felt his knees cave in. He felt the sun shine down on him in the middle of the ring. Everything was destroyed, from the seats, to the ring, to the set. Jeff crumpled to the torn canvas, his arms sagging heavily at his sides.

"Jeff?" Kurt's soft voice barely resonated in Jeff's mind. He approached him slowly, listening to Jeff's ragged breathing. "We gotta get outta here, Jeff. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it's gone." He knelt down beside Jeff gathering the blonde man to his feet. Jeff's head lulled to the side. He saw the look of shock and pain as it set in etched all over the blonde man's suddenly pale visage. He took a moment to run his hand over Jeff's blonde hair. "We can move it to another arena for the moment while they rebuild this one. It will be alright, Jeff. Don't worry." He picked the man up into his arms, carrying him out of the ruined impact zone.

0000

Jeff didn't speak for hours after the event. Kurt remained seated at the edge of his bed, watching as the older man remained silent in his own personal prison. Kurt brought him home after they received a brief once over from the paramedics. He figured Jeff wanted nothing to do with being there, and he didn't blame him. He reached out and put a hand over Jeff's. For awhile, the other man did nothing- much like he had been doing for the past few hours- when finally he spoke. "That air." He whispered dryly.

Kurt startled slightly, looking to Jeff with a mixture of shock and confusion. "Jeff-"

"Kurt, that air was the cleanest air I've ever breathed in; especially in Orlando." He slowly moved his hand to put it on top of Kurt's. "It's the only subject I want to talk about from today."

Kurt nodded his head in understanding. "Okay Jeff, I get it. Now I should probably go, hmm? You need your rest." When he went to go pull his hand away, he found he couldn't. Jeff's fingers were wrapped too tightly around his own.

"Jus' because I said I didn't want to talk about anything else, doesn't mean I don't remember what happened, hero." He said and gave Kurt's arm a tug. The other man toppled over on top of Jeff. Before he could say anything else, Jeff's lips were on his. The kissing felt good, warm, and unhurried. As if they had all of eternity to kiss. Jeff's hands ghosted along Kurt's back, feeling the strong muscles beneath his clothing. When they finally broke apart, Jeff uttered a slight, barely there 'Kurt'. The soft word made heat travel straight to Kurt's groin. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling Jeff's hands slide into his button-less shirt teasing the flesh expertly.

"Jeff uh… are you sure you want to do this?"

Jeff pulling him down for another kiss was all the answer he needed. He felt Jeff's tongue slip into his mouth and he was gone. Hands roamed eagerly over flesh and muscle, exploring what the other had to offer. Clothes were removed hastily, jeans shucked, pants lost, and sheets tangled. Kurt remained on his back on the bed, his hand nestled in Jeff's curls as the blonde slid his mouth along his rigid shaft. His blue eyes were half lidded as he worked, and the chorus of moans escaping past his kiss bruised lips and down his shaft made Kurt moan himself. Jeff pulled his mouth off of him, climbing over Kurt's hips to straddle him. He eased the erection inside of him, moaning at the way it felt inside of his tight heat. He sat down on Kurt, fully seated inside.

Kurt looked up to see Jeff's flushed cheeks, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat. His bouncy curls clung to his damp skin and over his forehead. He still had on his white undershirt, which clung nicely to his chest. He put his hands on Jeff's firm thighs as he watched the other man's mouth hang slightly open in pleasure. Once Jeff began to move, Kurt nearly lost it. Jeff felt so good around him, so tight and hot. His movements were slow and ragged at first, as he attempted to find some sort of rhythm. Jeff leaned over him, putting his hands on the headboard for better leverage as his rocking sped up.

With Jeff hovering over him, he saw the glint of the gold chain hanging around his neck, and the small delicate cross swaying back and forth. The movement was slow and hypnotic, despite Jeff's quickening movements.

"Ahhhh Kurt..!" He groaned out so loud and husky it brought him back to earth.

Growling, Kurt grabbed Jeff by the hips and switched their positions so that Jeff was now flat on his back staring up at Kurt with lust filled blue eyes. Kurt threw Jeff's legs over his shoulders, thrusting deep inside the blonde man. The result was incredible. Jeff's body twisted and arched up, his hands pulling at the sheets. He let out a loud delightful sounding howl, followed by another- until the room was filled with Jeff's moans, groans, shouts, and howls of pleasure. Each sound Jeff made drove him on, making him smack into Jeff's thick thighs harder.

Neither of them lasted too long after that. Jeff came in a spasm, covering Kurt's stomach with his release. He grunted when he felt Kurt branding him with his own seed, looking up to the younger man with a stated, hazy expression. "That was _real _nice, Kurt." He drawled out gruffly. "..Sorry, voice is a bit sore."

"Can't imagine why." Kurt coughed into his hand to hide a chuckle. He laid down next to Jeff, pulling him close.

"…People do say I can be a little loud in bed."

Kurt kissed Jeff to avoid another chuckle. He ran his hair through Jeff's hair, opening his mouth to speak, when the loud angry voice coming from the next apartment over said it for him.

"A LITTLE?"

"Whoops." Jeff winced and buried his face into Kurt's chest.

Kurt suppressed another laugh, and just shook his head. "G'night, Jeff."

Fin.

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Author's notes: MAN this one took awhile D:

This is my first fic with AJ or Kaz in it. Be gentle AJ fans XD

I wanted to do a story where there were three couples in different spots in their relationships- AJ and Kaz, just starting out- JJ and Kurt being ready for the next step, and BMI being… BMI.


	10. Real Gone

(THIS IS A SLASH STORY. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SLASH PLEASE DO NOT READ)

Fic title: Real Gone  
Song: Real Gone by Cheryl Crow  
Pairings: Ric Flair/Roddy Piper  
Characters: Ric Flair/Roddy Piper  
Mentions of: -  
Rated: T  
Disc: Not my men or song, I don't make any claims on anyone's sexuality. It's all for fun  
Summary: Ric takes his caddy into be repaired.  
Genre: General  
Special note: This happened to someone I know and to my mechanic. Couldn't resist writing a story about it; but what happens is very _**exaggerated**_ for laughs.

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1985

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A white caddy, sleek and polished, pulled up in front of Piper's Pit Stop. Roddy recognized that engine anywhere. It could only belong to one man, and it was the only car he ever owned that made it past the one year mark ownership wise. He grinned out the slightly grimy windows of the garage watching as the one and only Ric Flair stepped out of the driver's side.

The blonde man ran a hand through his signature fluffy locks, taking off his sunglasses as he appraised the small repair shop. It wasn't too large, having only three bays, and from the looks of the only other car in the lot was Roddy's. That was fine enough; after Roddy was done there'd be plenty of privacy to get reacquainted with his good friend.

The door to one of the bays opened up. "Hah!" Roddy proclaimed loudly and embraced his friend. "Man, I missed you. I _really_ missed you. What are you doing here in Oregon?"

"Wellllllllllllllll, I had a bit of a problem with a tire." He kicked the driver's side tire. "It's a bit flat. And I missed you too! It's gonna take me a bit before I get used to seeing you in coveralls instead of trunks and a kilt."

"Yeah… The transition for me wasn't easy either. But hell. At least I can actually fix your car before it explodes." He grinned at him before turning his attention on the car. Roddy let go of his friend to get a better look. He made an impressed noise at the state of affairs that the damaged tire was actually in. "A little? It really doesn't look too bad. You actually brought it in on time before it exploded, went flat as a board, or you having worn down the rims. I'm impressed. When did you notice it was going flat?"

"About Utah. And I only had one explode on me- I still don't think you can really blame that one on me either." Ric returned Roddy's slack jawed expression of surprise with a sheepish one. "What? Maybe I actually learned something from you about taking better care of the caddy fleet."

"No- you're too damn stubborn. And lazy. Mix those two together? You get a Ric Flair. You got lucky, man." He couldn't help but smile and shake his head. Ric Flair was Ric Flair.

"…You may be right there, Pipes." He smiled back, tossing Roddy the keys. "Could ya patch it for me? I think I musta hit a nail some place. It's a new tire, so it's kinda frustratin'."

"Yeah, I think I can do that for ya, Ric. Go on in and read some of the magazines I got in there. It shouldn't take long. It has to be one hell of a small leak." Roddy patted his back, watching his friend make his way into the shop.

Ric sat down in a chair, shifting casually through the magazines on the table. He made a slight face, wondering where the hell Roddy got these. They were so randomly collected he wondered if his long time friend kept ones people left behind instead of having to actually buy new ones. Choosing bowling between fly fishing and surgical supplies, he flopped down into a metal and patented leather chair to read. He wondered if he should have told Roddy about the eight cans of fix a flat he shoved into the tire to make sure he actually made it to Oregon, but shrugged it off turning to a page on customized bowling balls.

Meanwhile, Roddy cast a look to the halo of platinum hair sitting in the waiting room through the large glass separating the shop from the customers. It kept noise from the shop out of the waiting room and allowed him to make sure no shenanigans went on in his waiting room. He hadn't seen Ric in so long. The man never failed to look fantastic in his expensive suits and well kept hair. Ric wore a whitish-cream colored one today, with a lavender shirt on underneath. No tie, partially buttoned up, with a pair of expensive looking sunglasses hanging in the front. He looked completely into one of the magazines he picked up, brow furrowed, and lips pressed in a thin line of concentration.

Roddy uttered a soft, longing sigh, slowly undoing the cap on the tire to let out the remaining air. But instead of air, he was greeted with a steady stream of greenish foam in the face. "Awp! AUGH!" He gasped out, getting fully covered in the foam. He tried to find the cap in the mess but it slipped right out of his fingers and into the steadily collecting mass on the floor.

Ric was unaware of the chaos going on in the other side of the glass. He turned another page oblivious to Roddy's frantic waving, idly wondering if he could have a bowling ball made with silver butterfly designs embossed in the surface.

Roddy gave up trying to get Ric's attention as he went back to getting the cap. He dug it out of the foam on the ground, heading over to try and cap the tire. Once he reached it, it stopped spewing out the foam at will. "A' course it'd do that." He grunted and placed the cap on the completely deflated tire. He went over to wipe off his face with a rag before turning his attention to Ric. He smacked his lips in annoyance, looking around at all the foam covering absolutely everything close to the tire. He tapped his foot, trying to decide on what to do. Rant and rave? Or get even. Ric was wearing a white suit after all.

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Ric tossed the magazine down when he was finished, glancing to his right to see how Roddy was doing on his tire. Surprised to see no Roddy and a mysterious green goop covering everything, he scratched at his head in wonder. "Hm. Maybe I shoulda told him about the fix a flat." He gulped and startled a bit when he heard the sound of the door to the shop opening up. There stood Roddy, covered mostly from head to toe in green foam.

"Ohhh shit. Uhm. Hey Roddy." He winced. "Eheh- found the fix a flat huh? …There was only eight cans in the tire." He gulped hard.

Roddy stared at Ric while he fidgeted uncomfortably under the gaze. "I am the green slime monster. Coming to prey on your white suit! _Come get your hug_." He growled and lunged for Ric. The older man yelped and dodged the slime, heading for the door to the shop to escape. Once he rounded the corner, he failed to notice all the glop covering the floor. He took a slide in the foam, landing flat on his back. He let out an agonized howl, looking down in dismay at his ruined suit.

Roddy stood over him, chuckling before helping him up. He embraced him hard, getting the stuff all over Ric's front. "Always tell your mechanic about the fuckin' fix a flat, Ric."

"I'll never forget now." He simpered and looked to the mess on his torso. "Did you have to hug me, Pipes? Really? Did you have to?"

"Of course. You had to match your back. Can't have ya goin' out in that suit with only one part of it partially colored." Roddy reached out and patted his shoulder. "Even though ya made a mess, I still missed you and all our crazed adventures."

"Same. Even though ya ruined one of my suits."

"Welllllllllllllllll, I do have a suggestion for ya in regards to that suit."

Ric made his way through the goop to clean off his glasses. "N' what would that be? To take it off?" He snickered slightly, leaning back into Roddy once he felt his arms circle his waist. Roddy reached out to grab the rag, cleaning off the side of Ric's face.

"Ya may look good in green, but not on your skin."

Ric nodded and chuckled. "Agreed. Ya got a shower back here some place?"

Roddy snickered. "Sure, but it's only for employees."

"Oh really? Ya don't got any room for the nature boy back there?" Ric asked turning around in Roddy's arms, looking into his eyes with a big pout on his face.

"I got maybe enough room for me…" He watched Ric's pout turn up a notch. "And maybe you. Buuuuuuuuuuut only if you take it with me. Hurry up." He whipped Ric in the ass with a towel. "I want to get reacquainted with you, but right now, we're both covered in flammable foam."

"I don't want to ignite myself or you with my white hot sexiness. I am the natich, after all. A pure supernova of-" Ric paused staring indignantly at Roddy who was doubled over in laughter.

"Sexy like swamp thing..!" He choked out and slapped his knee.

Ric looked at him, and with all the dignity he could muster with foam dripping down his hair and onto the floor. "Lead the way, Pipes before I change my mind about you getting any."

FIN


End file.
